


The Boy Who Existed- Book Two

by viceroy_of_the_verse (gay_caesar)



Series: The Boy Who Existed [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boy-Who-Lived Neville, Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hogwarts Second Year, Manipulative Dumbledore, Not the same thing as evil Dumbledore, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Pureblood Supremacy, Slytherin Harry, Unhealthy Friendships, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_caesar/pseuds/viceroy_of_the_verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Father was furious, you know.' Draco said, as Harry sat down on the huge bed.</p>
<p>'...Over what?' Harry asked, with some trepidation. Was Draco talking about Harry being sick? He thought he had made a good first impression a few weeks before, but it seemed he had just thrown it away.</p>
<p>'Over you staying with muggles, of course. Father's going to speak with the Minister over it.' Draco said, as he sprawled over the bed the way he normally did.</p>
<p>Harry felt a bit light headed. He knew the Malfoys were doing this for political gain, but it didn't change the fact that they were adults who cared, if even a little bit. And all because of Draco. Harry thought he might've hugged him, but all the books on pureblood decorum told him that wasn't a good idea.</p>
<p>'Even if he can't do anything,' Draco sounded as though that were impossible, 'you'll at least spend the rest of the summer here.' "</p>
<p>As a normal boy, Harry Potter is still a pawn in various political games. But as he grows older, he learns how to use that system. After all, cunning is required in the snake pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> And here's Book Two. I think I mentioned this in the first book's notes, but this is a Harry/Draco endgame fic. All concrit is totally welcome, and I'm still looking for someone to brit-pick and/or beta for this fic.

CHAPTER ONE: THE VISITOR

Harry Potter's summer, which he had planned on being the same as the last twelve, was, in fact, worse than any he could remember.

For daring to run away from 'home,' Harry had been locked in his cupboard almost as soon as he'd walked through the door, just as soon as Dudley had shoved him around. 

Harry had spent a full two weeks in his normal punishment, of no food, except for one bowl of cold soup, every two days, and as much water as he could drink from the tap. His cupboard, however, hadn't grown any with Harry, so he'd been crammed into a much smaller space than even he was used to.

It was on the second week of Harry's punishment that Uncle Vernon let him out of the cupboard, and Harry was immediately put to work making breakfast. As soon as he was finished, Aunt Petunia had him scrubbing the dirt Dudley had tracked onto the kitchen floor.

Harry had been trying not to be sick, as he had eaten a piece of toast, more food than he'd had in weeks, when someone knocked on the door. Aunt Petunia, who had been watching television in the den, came out to answer the door, and glared at him when he looked up from his scrubbing.

As she opened the door, she began to say, "We're not interested in buying anything-," when she was cut off by a familiar voice.

Harry looked up just in time to see Mr. Malfoy, cane hooked onto the door, pushing it open. "And I am not selling anything, Madame. But my son was most insistent that leaving young Mr. Potter within your tender care would be a mistake. Looking at the state of him," Mr. Malfoy looked into the kitchen at Harry, who was wearing Dudley's old clothes, made even baggier by Harry's most recent stay in the closet. "I can see why."

"You're one of them." Aunt Petunia hissed. "I won't have another freak in my house. I'll call my husband; I'll call the police!"

Mr. Malfoy sneered down at her, and forced the front door open the rest of the way. "And explain to your pathetic muggle husband that the child you so readily abuse is superior to you? That what you fear in him will one day wipe your worthless existence from this world?" Mr. Malfoy turned to Harry. "Collect your things. Draco is very anxious to see you."

Harry didn't waste any time, not wanting to anger the man who was saving him. His trunk was already packed, having never been unpacked from the year before. It was still in the garage, however, so all Harry really had to do was to grab his wand from under the floorboards, and grab Circe's carrier, who he had hidden in the corner, and fed bits of chicken to, from the soup he was brought every few days.

Harry finished grabbing everything out of his room, and went back into the front hallway. "Er, Mr. Malfoy, my trunk is in the garage."

Mr. Malfoy turned from glaring at Aunt Petunia, and turned out the door with a sharp twist of his cloak. When Harry showed him where the garage was, Mr. Malfoy curled his lip at what he called a "hideous muggle blemish," and retrieved Harry's the garage.

As soon as Harry had his trunk, Mr. Malfoy grasped his elbow. "I would imagine you've never apparated before, Mr. Potter?" 

"Er, no, sir." Harry said.

Mr. Malfoy curled his lip again, although Harry wasn't sure what in particular he was upset about.

Harry did figure it out, though, when he was almost sick on Mr. Malfoy's boots. Instead, he was sick on the cobblestone path to Malfoy Manor. With a shaky voice, Harry said, "I'm sorry, sir..."

Mr. Malfoy avoided where Harry had been sick, with a very strained look on his face. "Quite alright." Mr. Malfoy said in a voice that sounded as though it most certainly wasn't.

Harry tried to keep up with Mr. Malfoy as they made their way up the drive. He tried harder when Mr. Malfoy had to wait for Harry so he could enter through the gate. As they entered the front hall, Draco came down a large staircase, and came to a stop in front of them.

"Draco," Mr. Malfoy said, "why don't you show Mr. Potter to his room?"

"Yes, Father." Draco said, in a respectful voice Harry hadn't thought him capable of.

As they went up the main staircase, Harry was glad Draco walked with him, because he felt a bit woozy.

"Did you ever get any of my letters?" Draco asked, as they made their way to the top.

Harry shook his head, and instantly regretted it. "No. I'm sorry." Harry thought his voice sounded a little wooden, and Draco gave him an appraising look.

When Draco opened the door of his guest room for him, Harry looked in on one of the most beautiful rooms he had ever seen. The walls were covered in silk paneling, with stone floors, and a bed even larger than the one Harry had had in the first year dorms.

"Father was furious, you know." Draco said, as Harry sat down on the huge bed.

"...Over what?" Harry asked, with some trepidation. Was Draco talking about Harry being sick? He thought he had made a good first impression a few weeks before, but it seemed he had just thrown it away.

"Over you staying with muggles, of course.  
Father's going to speak with the Minister over it." Draco said, as he sprawled over the bed the way he normally did.

Harry felt a bit light headed. He knew the Malfoys were doing this for political gain, but it didn't change the fact that they were adults who cared, if even a little bit. And all because of Draco. Harry thought he might've hugged him, but all the books on pureblood decorum told him that wasn't a good idea.

"Even if he can't do anything," Draco sounded as though that were impossible, "you'll at least spend the rest of the summer here."

Harry let go of any decorum lessons he had been trying to drill into his own head, and hugged Draco. It only lasted a few seconds, and afterwards he felt a bit light headed. Draco looked a bit shocked, and Harry muttered, "...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Draco leaned forward with the most bizarre look on his face. "I've never had a friend do that."

Harry looked back at him. "I've never hugged anyone before."

Draco looked pleased with himself. "You can do it again sometime, if you like." Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. That Draco would just drop all of his proper behaviour, all so Harry could do something as stupid as hug him. Harry fell back onto the bed, his head hitting the mattress.

Draco looked at him curiously, but then looked up again. "You'll have to come and see my room this afternoon. It's nowhere near as plain as this one. And we'll have to go flying. Father's bought me the newest broom, the Nimbus 2001."

And just like that, Draco was back to himself, talking about things Mr. Malfoy had bought him, but after weeks of no one, Harry found he had missed Draco's prattling. It was normal, now.

"...And mother's just dying to meet you. Ever since Father told her you were better behaved than most of the purebloods in our year," Draco smirked, "she's decided we must spend more time together. I believe she's planning on inviting you for Winter Holidays this year." 

Harry tried to look nonchalant, but he definitely failed. He needed to stop reacting to everything so strongly, though, because Draco might begin to suspect he normally wasn't paying all that much attention to him. Although, he could always blame it on being disoriented.

"I'd like to meet your mother." Harry murmured. "She seems... Lovely."

Draco smirked at him. "You're not going anywhere, Potter."

Harry gave him a resigned look, and closed his eyes for a second. One second turned into two, and before he could think about it, Harry was fast asleep.

When Harry woke up again, though, someone had put him into the bed proper, although without his glasses, he couldn't tell who was sitting across from him.

Harry groped for his glasses, and a hand pushed them into his. "Good morning, Mr. Potter."

Across from him sat a very elegant woman, with curled hair and pressed robes. Harry could only assume this was Draco's mother. "Good morning, Lady Malfoy." Harry did a little bow from where he sat.

"I see your manners are just as impressive as Lucius said they were. Please," she said with a smile, "call me Narcissa."

Harry knew the Malfoys had now invested in him, and couldn't afford to have him swooped up by some other family, but there they were, being kind to him. Harry gave Mrs. Malfoy a small smile. "Thank you, L- Narcissa. I would be honored if you would call me Harry." 

Harry had actually managed a proper introduction to Draco's mother, without embarrassing himself. It seemed all Harry's studying had paid off. His manners were just as good as a pureblood's.

"Draco was very put-out that you'd fallen asleep. Perhaps you would like to go and join him across the hall?" Mrs. Malfoy asked him.

Harry thought it was beyond what even Draco's parents were capable of to tell their only son they were manipulating his friend for political power. So, unless Draco had been manipulating him as well, he actually cared enough to put his room across from his own. Harry was touched.

"Yes ma'am." Harry said, with a little nod. 

Mrs. Malfoy stood from her chair, and smoothed the front of her robes. "I'll leave you to it, then. Be careful, though. My dragon doesn't particularly like being woken up." 

Harry had once ended up on the wrong end of Draco's wand, doing exactly that, so he just nodded, and got out of bed. As soon as the door closed, Harry crossed to where the house elves had left his chair, and opened it. He pulled on one of the pairs of robes Mrs. Malfoy had sent him for Yule, and spent a futile moment trying to tame his hair. 

Then he crossed the hall, and tapped on Draco's door. When he didn't get an answer, Harry turned the door handle, and went inside.

"Draco?" He asked, from the safety of the doorway. 

When he didn't get a response, he flicked the curtains open with his wand. Draco yanked the thick curtains around his bed closed, so Harry opened them again. 

A muffled "Go away!" came from underneath a pile of pillows.

"You know, you've got a really excellently placed jug of water on your dresser." Harry observed.

Draco shot out of bed, and flopped, gracelessly, onto the floor. "You're an absolute terror, Potter." He scowled at Harry from the floor.

Harry swallowed the shot of fear that went through him, and put his hand out. "We match." Harry said, with a smirk.

While he hadn't been looking, though, Draco had levitated the same jug of water Harry had been eyeing, and dumped it all over him.

He spent the time Draco bathed sputtering, and trying to fix himself off with drying charms.

Harry, dare he say it, felt like a normal twelve year old, not just some charity case who constantly had to prove himself. It was nice.


	2. A Summer Well Spent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Draco told him all the stories about the manor he thought were impressive. The dungeons the Malfoys of the Middle Ages had tortured Mudbloods in, the kitchens, the estate. Harry loved everything about it. And being able to explore somewhere, rather than being locked in a cupboard, was fantastic.
> 
> The Malfoys, it seemed, were insistent on Harry becoming the best possible friend for their son, which included lessons in things that Harry couldn't quite study on his own. On Saturday mornings, he would learn how to dance from Mrs. Malfoy, which Draco took great care in attending, to point out all Harry's mistakes. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, possible trigger warning for this chapter, appearance modification for approval. It's just clothes, but it reads as kind of creepy.

CHAPTER TWO: A SUMMER WELL SPENT

After the first day of introductions, which Draco told Harry he'd handled well, Harry spent the rest of the summer playing Quidditch (he could be a pretty fair chaser, he thought), wandering around Malfoy manor, and exploring the library.

Draco told him all the stories about the manor he thought were impressive. The dungeons the Malfoys of the Middle Ages had tortured Mudbloods in, the kitchens, the estate. Harry loved everything about it. And being able to explore somewhere, rather than being locked in a cupboard, was fantastic.

The Malfoys, it seemed, were insistent on Harry becoming the best possible friend for their son, which included lessons in things that Harry couldn't quite study on his own. On Saturday mornings, he would learn how to dance from Mrs. Malfoy, which Draco took great care in attending, to point out all Harry's mistakes. 

And, Mrs. Malfoy had sat him down with a book of grooming spells, so that he might tackle his ridiculous hair. Harry had finally found a spell that had straightened it out, although he had to apply it every morning. It was a rather finicky spell, but once Harry had applied it, it would stay for the rest of the day.

Mrs. Malfoy also bought Harry a set of casual robes for his birthday, which had replaced the atrocious hand-me-downs that Harry had received from his equally atrocious... Dursleys. Mr. Malfoy had told him that he no longer looked like a ruffian, and Harry thought that had to be a sign of approval. 

Draco, especially, seemed delighted that Harry had started paying attention to his appearance. He had started getting up early, just to watch Harry fuss over his appearance, the way Draco always did. Harry thought he enjoyed it a bit more than he should.

Draco had been trying to get him to change his glasses for months, and Harry had eagerly traded the cheap muggle lenses he wore for magical ones. Looking in the mirror, he wasn't sure he recognized himself. But he liked it. 

Harry never wanted to be the freak muggle children had always called him as a child. He wanted to look like a proper wizard. A proper pureblood, because, even though his father had had atrocious taste in women, Harry was the last of the Potter line, and he would carry his line with dignity.

It was with that thought in mind that, when Mr. Malfoy took them to Knockturn Alley, Harry tried not to make any noise. Draco made angry noises under his breath at not being able to touch anything, but Harry was rather terrified of what would happen if he said anything at all.

"Pure wizard blood is counting for less everywhere, I'm afraid." The smarmy shopkeeper said, as Harry looked over.

"Not with me." Mr. Malfoy said in a voice that carried to where Harry and Draco were standing.

Their voices dropped again, and Harry kept his mouth glued shut, but when Draco reached out to touch the Iron Maiden they were standing in front of, Harry hissed, "Draco." 

He then promptly felt as though he were going to have a heart attack. Harry had never spoken to Draco like that, and he had the sudden gripping fear that, political pull or no, Draco would grow sick of him, and he'd be returned to the Dursleys.

Instead, Draco shook his head, and Mr. Malfoy said, "Come along, boys. We're leaving."

Leaving Knockturn Alley, it seemed, made it better, because after that, Draco had no problem going to Flourish and Blotts, while his father went off to do something else.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is an absolute idiot," Draco decided, as he leaned over the railing.

"Of course. After Quirrell, who the hell who take the job?" Harry asked, as he picked out his extra reading material. "At least he won't stutter. I think I might've gone barmy if I'd had to listen to it again."

From below, the crowd exploded into applause, and Harry leaned over the railing as well, only to see Longbottom having his picture taken with Lockhart.

"Saint Longbottom." Draco sneered. 

"Maybe Longbottom will off Lockhart, as well." Harry mused.

Draco was already down the stairs. "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Longbottom? Neville Longbottom, can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

Harry simply pulled his wand into the sleeve of his robe, just in case Draco started a fight.

"Children-" A man approached the horde of Weasleys, plus Longbottom, facing down Harry's best friend. "Malfoy the younger, I see." Said the man, who Harry assumed was Mr. Weasley. "And who's this?"

"That's Potter, Dad." Weasley said from where he stood next to Longbottom.

"A Potter and a Malfoy. I hardly think your parents fought so hard to protect you, Harry-" Mr. Weasley's voice was cut off by Mr. Malfoy's smooth voice.

"I hardly think a blood-traitor should be lecturing a young man on proper friendships, Weasley." Mr. Malfoy sneered.

"Lucius." Mr. Weasley said, with the most pathetic scowl Harry had ever seen.

"Busy time at the Ministry, Arthur. All those extra raids. I do hope they're paying you overtime. But, judging by the state of these," Mr. Malfoy plucked a pair of books from the Weasley girl's cauldron, "I'd say not. What's the use of being a disgrace to the name of Wizard, if they don't even pay you well for it?" 

After a few more biting remarks on Mr. Malfoy's side, and a duel seemed less imminent, Draco led him into the Apothecary's shop. 

As Draco looked through ingredients, Harry paged through Lockhart's autobiography. If you could call it that. 

"Honestly, sometimes I think I should've let you go to Ravenclaw, the way you read. " Draco shot him a look, and then glanced at the title of his 'book.' "Oh, sweet Merlin, you're not reading those, are you?"

"I'm skimming. The man is a terrible bore, and his taste in color schemes is Dumbledore worthy, but he's also going to be a teacher. If this is on the curriculum, don't you think he's going to ask?" Harry said, with a gesture to the list in Draco's hand.

"I've no intention of answering, if he does." Draco retorted, and selected some beetle's eyes.

"But if Lockhart likes you, he won't talk about Longbottom." Harry rolled his eyes at Draco.

"Did you see the way Lockhart was drooling on Longbottom? I doubt he'd give up the 'boy-who-lived-through-potions' for anything." Draco sneered at a selection of snake tongues.

Harry wasn't going to touch the anything part, and instead said, "If Weasley got him to start wearing those hideous sweaters, I think he would."

The rest of their shopping was spent, as Harry expected, mocking Weasley and Longbottom. Draco seemed in much better spirits after that, and they spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, before Mr. Malfoy returned from what he'd been doing. 

All in all, Harry thought it had been the most productive summer of his life, if not the best, which would always be the one he'd spent by himself.

At Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harry was ready to step back and let Draco say goodbye to his parents, when Mrs. Malfoy had taken him by the shoulders. "I expect you to keep all of my hard work in perfect shape, Harry Potter." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, "I imagine you'll need it, to keep my boy in line."

Mrs. Malfoy, it seemed, trusted him to be Draco's keeper. Harry smiled. "Yes, I imagine I will."

In a louder voice, Mrs. Malfoy said, "And I expect you to come back to Malfoy Manor over the Yule holiday. The lack of celebrations at Hogwarts is disgraceful."

Mr. Malfoy nodded next to her, and as Mrs. Malfoy fussed with Draco's cloak, Mr. Malfoy stuck his hand out towards him. "Very impressive, Mr. Potter."

Harry shook the hand in front of him. "Thank you, Sir."

With one last nod, Draco pulled Harry away, and they boarded the train.

Zabini and Parkinson were sitting in a compartment when they found them. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting next to them, but they seemed not to have noticed. "...Apparently didn't make it onto the train. Malfoy should be pleased." Zabini finished as Draco opened the door.

"And why will I be pleased?" Draco asked, as he sprawled himself across from Zabini.

Harry took the seat next to him, as Crabbe moved over.

"Longbottom never boarded the train. And," Zabini glanced out the window, "it's unlikely he'll show up now that we've left."

Draco was, most definitely, pleased. 

"Potter, you've actually tamed your hair!" Parkinson, Harry thought, was a bit of a chit. 

"Yes, I have." Harry said, and then promptly grabbed a book from his trunk.

"Doesn't he ever stop?" Parkinson asked Draco. "I can't imagine what a horrible feeling it must be for you to be ignored, Draco." Her voice was positively simpering.

"You can still carry on a conversation. He listens to every word, not that he'd ever admit it." Draco said.

Harry rolled his eyes to make Draco's point.

"Besides, he absorbs information like a sponge. Harry can tell you actual facts about the Goblin Wars." Draco said.

After that, Harry stopped listening. He did nod, though, whenever he heard his name. Harry was quite good at pretending he knew what was going on in conversations.

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts, Harry was fully ensconced in a book on Wizarding-Vampire relations. It was very interesting, and he didn't have to listen to Parkinson's vapid commentary.


	3. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Inevitably, Longbottom showed up to the feast, dragging Weasley along with him. Draco was absolutely vibrating with nervous energy, and Harry had to elbow him in the side before he would settle down.
> 
> After dinner, though, Draco walked fast enough that, even stretching his legs as far as possible, Harry couldn't keep up. He found Draco standing in front of the house hourglasses, staring at the Gryffindor hourglass. 'Nothing.' Draco hissed. 'Absolutely nothing. I'm going to write to father tonight, and have Longbottom kicked out on his arse.'
> 
> Harry, who had learned over the summer how to spot a mood in the making, kept his mouth firmly shut. 
> 
> 'It must've been Dumbledore.' Draco spat. 'He's the worst headmaster the place has ever seen, according to father. The absolute nerve! As if Longbottom deserves his ridiculous favoritism.' "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is only slightly less creepy than the next one. This whole book is pretty creepy tbh. So, er, book!Riddle has come.

CHAPTER THREE: THE BOOK

During the sorting, Slytherin house gained thirteen first years, seven girls, and six boys. And still, no Longbottom. Draco looked like his wildest dreams had come true.

When the Headmaster left, Draco firmly kept the pleased look on his face. "He's gone to have Longbottom expelled."

Harry nodded. "Mm. Even if he arrived late, that's against the rules, and grounds for McGonagall to take enough house points that they'll never even enter the race for house cup."

Draco nodded, and pulled the treacle tart across the table. 

Inevitably, Longbottom showed up to the feast, dragging Weasley along with him. Draco was absolutely vibrating with nervous energy, and Harry had to elbow him in the side before he would settle down.

After dinner, though, Draco walked fast enough that, even stretching his legs as far as possible, Harry couldn't keep up. He found Draco standing in front of the house hourglasses, staring at the Gryffindor hourglass. "Nothing." Draco hissed. "Absolutely nothing. I'm going to write to father tonight, and have Longbottom kicked out on his arse."

Harry, who had learned over the summer how to spot a mood in the making, kept his mouth firmly shut. 

"It must've been Dumbledore." Draco spat. "He's the worst headmaster the place has ever seen, according to father. The absolute nerve! As if Longbottom deserves his ridiculous favoritism." 

Harry most decidedly did not mention that Snape treated Draco the same way Dumbledore treated Longbottom. Although, Draco actually did know how to brew a potion. As far as Harry could tell, Longbottom was absolutely incompetent at anything other than flying a broom.

And Harry hadn't forgotten about Dumbledore. He had spent his childhood locked in a cupboard, working like a house elf, or being beaten by muggle boys twice his size. Harry was going to end Dumbledore's career, no matter what it took. This, he supposed, could help.

As they walked down to the dungeons, Draco ranted about the endless number of reasons Neville Longbottom ought to have his wand snapped, or something equally angry, while Harry thought about when he would get his revenge on Dumbledore.

In the Slytherin common room, Harry overheard a sixth year muttering, "-finally looks like a boy the Malfoys should be associating with." 

Harry was pleased, and he spent longer than usual the next morning fussing in front of the mirror. 

"Merlin, Malfoy got to you. I suppose you'll spend all your time worrying about your bloody hair?" Zabini looked very put-upon.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to look nice." Harry fixed his hair one last time.

"Don't discourage him, Zabini. He's finally got hair he can put a bloody comb through." Draco sniffed.

Leaving the bathroom before he got in the middle of an infamous Zabini-Malfoy argument, Harry grabbed a book, and made his way down to the common room.

It was early enough that most everyone was still in their dorm, and Harry could grab a seat on one of the couches.

The book he'd grabbed was on Wizarding homosexuality, although Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted anyone to see him reading it. Harry had decided, early on in life, that anything Vernon Dursley hated was quite alright by Harry's standards. Homosexuals were amazing, as far as Harry was concerned, just for making the Dursleys angry. He wouldn't want anyone to see it before he had judged the wizarding opinion on it.

The book was written for mudbloods, which was rather awful to be subjected to, but it was very interesting. Wizards, apparently, were not only fully supportive of homosexuality, but it was normal. They could reproduce in the same way that heterosexual couples could, which was fascinating, although the book only had diagrams, rather than a description. 

What Harry thought was a bit strange, however, was that two fully realized Lords couldn't marry, nor could two Ladies marry. The more acclaimed wizard or witch would have to take the other as his or her consort. Any titles that the consort would've held were trumped by Consort, and their Lord or Ladyships passed to their husband or wife. Harry thought it was absolutely fascinating.

He made a note to get some books on Consort law from the library, and got up to return his book. As he was returning it to his trunk, Draco came out of the bathroom, and they walked to breakfast.

"You haven't got a book this morning." Draco noticed, as he pulled a rasher of bacon onto his plate.

"I've got to go to the library to get a few books. I was thinking of going before class." Harry said, then busied himself with his toast.

From across the table, Nott glanced at him. "What are you planning on taking out?"

"I'm going to take out a few on consort law. I'm a bit fuzzy on the details." Harry said, and leaned down to ask Goyle for the juice.

"What is there to be fuzzy about?" Draco asked. "It's very simple."

"It really isn't, though. There's quite a bit involved, actually." Harry said.

"They're the same as any marriage contract. Next you'll tell me you think those are interesting." Draco rolled his eyes.

"I do, actually." Harry sniffed, and stared at where Professor Snape stood, handing out schedules. Harry was both impatiently waiting for his, and wishing Snape would just turn around.

When Snape reached him, though, Harry took his schedule with a quiet 'thank you,' and Snape seemed to have lost interest, if only for the moment. The Slytherin second years had a free period during the morning that day, so Harry walked as quickly to the Library as possible, without so much as a goodbye to Draco.

Harry hoped he would get the message. Harry could play dirty, too, and he knew that Draco would want his owl to bring him things sooner, rather than later. 

Once Harry made his way to the library, he found an empty table fairly quickly. He stacked a few books on writing marriage contracts, then pulled out some parchment. Harry was interested in the theory, but he would most likely have to write his own marriage contract.

Not that Harry wanted to get married. Marriage meant you had to kiss, and do all sorts of weird things. But someday, Harry might want to.

Marriage contracts were very interesting, really. How many children would be required, provisions for divorce, even extramarital affairs. Harry wasn't quite sure he understood that last one, but before he could examine it too closely, he noticed a pale hand dropping something on his study table.

Harry turned to find who had left the little leather book, but all he saw was the back of someone's robe. Harry glanced at the cover, then at the back. All it said was, 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

Harry couldn't imagine who that might be, although he was sure he had heard it before. Harry tugged open the front cover, only to reveal a blank page. 

Strange. Harry figured whoever left it there would either come back, or he wouldn't want it, so he went back to reading.

Harry had almost entirely forgotten about the book, until he accidentally upended his pot of ink all over it.

Harry cursed under his breath, then spelled off the extra ink. Except the extra ink didn't come off. It sank into the page. And before his eyes, handwriting appeared on the page. 'Hello.'

Harry considered ignoring it, but then considered. 'Hello.' Harry's looping handwriting disappeared into the paper. 'My name is Potter. Harry Potter.'

'Hello, Harry. My name is Tom.' The same handwriting came through the page. 'Potter. Are you related to Charlus?'

'Yes.' Harry wrote back. 'He was my grandfather.'

'Grandfather?' The question mark looped at the end of the word.

'Yes.' Harry hesitated, then wrote, 'He's dead. All the Potter's, except for me.'

'...What happened to them?' Riddle seemed a bit shocked, if a book could be shocked.

'My parents died in the war. Charlus and Dorea died of some sort of illness. No one seems to know.' Harry wrote.

'How awful. When did they die?' Riddle had the practiced charm of one of the older Slytherins, but he seemed a bit rusty at it.

'1981. I was only a baby.' Harry wrote.

'I'm very sorry.' Riddle wrote, although Harry could tell he wasn't.

'I don't particularly remember them.' Harry wrote, which was true. 'I don't particularly care about them, either.' Which wasn't. But Harry had spent enough time in Narcissa's lessons that he knew her cardinal rule by heart: Never show weakness.

Riddle didn't write anything for a moment, so Harry turned back to his book. He'd gotten halfway through the section on the different types of binding spells that could be applied to marriage contracts when Riddle's handwriting caught his eye.

'What house are you in?' Riddle asked.

Harry dipped his quill back in the inkpot. 'Slytherin. Second year.'

Riddle writes, 'None of the Potters have ever been in Slytherin.'

Harry writes back, 'No, they haven't. But I have no plans to go running off like a half-brained idiot for parents who abandoned me.' 

That hit a bit too close to home. Harry hadn't intended to let Riddle know anything about him, book or no. Knowledge is power.

'I was in Slytherin, too, you know. I only mention it because I had a... Problem with being sorted into Slytherin.' Riddle writes.

Harry considers what Riddle's problem could've been. Riddle isn't a pureblood family, as far as Harry can see. It might not even be a wizarding family. 'A half-blood problem?' Harry writes.

'Yes. Have you had that problem?' Riddle asks. Harry knows there has to be an angle, a reason Riddle just revealed what must've been a closely guarded secret.

'No.' Harry writes. He leaves the lie on the page, but he feels anxious, as though he should tell Riddle the truth. Maybe Riddle can help him. Or maybe he shouldn't trust books that can write back. 

Harry snaps the book closed, and gathers up his notes on contract writing. He'll finish them later. Madame Pince glares at him when he checks two books out, and gives him the warning about not getting anything on them.

As Harry tucks his books into his bag, he remembers why he had hid- strategically relocated to the library. He was distracted by Riddle's diary, and Draco would probably have forgotten about Harry snapping at him by now.

Professor Sprout has just hustled into the greenhouse when Harry arrives, and slides into the spot next to Draco. Draco, who gives him a strange look, but can't say anything to him, because Professor Sprout starts talking about mandrakes.

Later, during lunch, Draco talks about ways to get both Longbottom and Granger expelled, although Harry is sure he wouldn't object to Weasley being expelled, as well.


	4. The Diary Vanishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Riddle wrote back almost immediately, 'Hello, Harry.'
> 
> Harry braced himself, and wrote, 'I'm having a bit of a problem, at the moment... A half blood problem.'
> 
> It took Riddle a few seconds to reply, and Harry considered just shutting the diary, to save himself the humiliation, when Riddle replied, 'How can I help?'
> 
> If Harry had learned anything from the Malfoys, though, or even just life in Slytherin, it was that no one did something for free."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't announce this hiatus, but I just kinda had to take it, because I fell behind on chapters, but now we'll be back on a normal schedule.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE DIARY VANISHES

 

During History of Magic, which amounted to little more than an hour for the Slytherins to sleep, Harry actually took notes. They were covering the Goblin rebellions again, and Harry wondered if they would ever cover anything else. He supposed that the reason they didn't teach anything else was probably because recent history was rather controversial, what with the war having only ended eleven years before.

 

Even Grindelwald seemed to provoke a rather strong reaction from Mr. Malfoy, although he didn't approve of his 'watered-down' supremacy ideals. Harry hadn't quite appreciated that as much as he probably should have, he felt. Of course Harry hated muggles. The latest experience with the Dursleys had just cemented the previous eleven years of awful treatment, but Harry's mum had been a mudblood- muggleborn.

 

Harry wasn't quite sure how to feel about his parents, really. They had gone off and died for a cause that had only been saved by a freak accident with a baby. Otherwise, Harry's parents would've died for absolutely nothing. And, although he imagined only the person who killed his parents would know, they had, for some reason, not killed Harry.

 

And Draco's father had been a Death Eater. Mr. Malfoy had saved him from the Dursleys, which was better than any muggle, mudblood, or muggle lover had done. Better than Harry's parents. But Mr. Malfoy might've killed someone. Mr. Malfoy might've done awful things, like torture someone. And Harry was sure that there were Death Eaters who were just as grisly as their name implied.

 

Harry supposed it didn't matter, because Longbottom had supposedly killed Voldemort the year previous, but Harry just didn't know. And besides that, people would want to know Harry's opinion on mudbloods in a year or so, no matter his opinion on maybe dead dark lords.

 

Harry supposed that he didn't actually know many mudbloods. The ones he did know, though, seemed positively dreadful. Granger acted like everything was a textbook, rather than a real place, and she was bloody rude. Harry couldn't seem to get an answer in edge-wise, except for the classes Slytherin shared with Ravenclaw.

 

Harry sighed, unintentionally, but he was surrounded by Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, on all sides, so no one seemed to hear it. Draco was sleeping, and Harry would have to tell him to straighten his hair when he woke up.

 

Harry gave up on following what Professor Binns was saying, not that he had been listening by that point, and dug the books on marriage contracts out of his bag.

 

There was a section in the second book about fidelity charms, and prevention clauses against extramarital sexual relations. Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant,

and made a note to look it up.

 

Harry imagined that was for the consort, rather than the Lord or Lady. Although it might've been for both. Although the book did say it was for the heir's lineal purity. Harry wondered if most pureblood couples had them or not.

 

Harry had been writing his questions on a spare sheet of parchment, but it occurred to him that he didn't have to ask Draco. He could ask the diary in his bag, although Harry wasn't sure he trusted Riddle. Riddle wasn't his best friend, though. Riddle could taunt him for not knowing, but Riddle couldn't publicly disgrace him. Riddle could call Harry out for lying to him about his blood status, but Riddle was in a book.

 

Before Harry could lose his nerve, he opened the diary, and wrote 'Hello, Tom.'

 

Riddle wrote back almost immediately, 'Hello, Harry.'

 

Harry braced himself, and wrote, 'I'm having a bit of a problem, at the moment... A half blood problem.'

 

It took Riddle a few seconds to reply, and Harry considered just shutting the diary, to save himself the humiliation, when Riddle replied, 'How can I help?'

 

If Harry had learned anything from the Malfoys, though, or even just life in Slytherin, it was that no one did something for free.

 

'I thought we might trade. You help me with my pureblood studies, I give you something you want.' Harry wrote.

 

'Of course. Anything for a fellow Slytherin.' Riddle wrote. 'How do you feel about chickens?'

 

\---

 

Tom Riddle knew far more about purebloods than he had let on. Harry was learning in leaps and bounds, things that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy would never have thought he would need to learn. The difference between robes, the meanings of flowers, the difference between dinner and lunch forks, spells to polish shoes, the best brands of wizarding cologne, a treasure trove of little details that would round out Harry's presentation of himself.

 

And all Tom wanted in return was cheap little errands. Which was odd, because it probably meant Tom would want something better, later. But Harry wasn't about to just give up a diary that could tell him how to stop just clinging on to Draco, and how to make himself a proper member of society. And Tom couldn't tell anyone about Harry's gaps in knowledge, couldn't embarrass him in public.

 

So, Harry killed chickens. And found books in the library. Harry spent odd hours wandering the school, while Tom looked for something. Harry couldn't say what it was, but he imagined Tom would either lie or be cross if Harry asked, so he kept his mouth shut.

 

Harry had the arrangement down perfectly, he thought, although he was getting tired more often. Harry spent much less time with Draco, though, and Draco seemed to notice. Draco, as always, did not do well with being ignored, and so he began coming up with ways to distract Harry while he was writing in Tom's diary. Although Harry attempted to listen to Draco, Tom gave him information he could use, so Harry paid attention to Tom more often than Draco.

 

That was what caused the problem. Because, one day, while Harry was outside, studying, rather than talking to Tom, Draco overheard Longbottom giving a mudblood an autograph. And, of course, Harry got dragged along for the ride. Fifteen minutes later, mudblood rushing past them, Lockhart telling Longbottom some garbage about fame in the background, they went back to their spot, where Tom's diary was gone.

 

Harry searched all around his bag, but he couldn't find the bloody thing.

 

"What are you doing?" Draco asked him, after Harry looked around at the base of the tree they were under.

 

"My book! It was in my bag, and it's gone." Harry scowled at his bag, as though it had somehow stolen the diary.

 

"You mean the one that you're always scribbling away in?" Draco sniffed. "Really, I hope you haven't been keeping anything too important in a book everyone sees, Potter." Draco stressed his last name, and Harry had the sudden irrational thought that Draco could have stolen Tom's diary.

 

Then he shook his head, and reminded himself that he had been standing right next to Draco, far away from the diary, the entire time. It was far more likely that whoever had left the diary on his table in the first place had stolen it, or whoever it originally belonged to.

 

But, the only reason that Harry had trusted Tom with any knowledge about himself was because Tom could never tell anyone. And now, Tom could tell whoever had the diary all the things Harry had told him.

 

And it wasn't as though Harry could tell a teacher, because that would mean telling them he had been writing in a diary somehow possessed by the spirit of a slick sixth year from fifty years ago.

 

So Harry would have to figure out who had stolen the diary. Whoever had left the diary in the first place had been pale, but that didn't help him any. Most of Hogwarts was pale, and there were quite a few people who didn't like Harry.

 

"-you'll probably never see again- Are you even listening to me?" Draco snapped.

 

Before Harry could stop himself, he snapped back, "No, I was thinking for myself. You might try it sometime." Then, he turned and walked away.

 

It was stupid. It was a stupid, Gryffindor thing to do. Imagine, telling his best friend, telling Draco Malfoy, that he never thought for himself. The only reason Harry didn't turn around and apologize that moment was because Draco would probably hex him if he came back. And Harry would absolutely deserve it.

 

Draco was the only reason that the other Slytherins hadn't crucified him. He'd taught Harry more about being a proper wizard than any teacher at Hogwarts, and his parents had saved Harry from the Dursleys. Draco was the best thing that had ever happened to Harry, and he had gone and ruined it over something as stupid as a book. A book that had taught him things, of course, but a book that he couldn't trust.

 

Harry made a sharp turn from the entrance to the library, and stalked off towards the owlery. He would have to buy Draco something if he had any hope of getting back into his good graces.

 

Harry had gotten a gift catalogue for christmas gifts, but he thought that the book on the glorious history of the Malfoys (apparently a new hit with members of the Wizengamot and teenage girls) would be just the sort of peace offering Draco would like, even if it was only October.

 

After Harry had Draco's owl go off to retrieve the book, along with payment, he hurried back downstairs. If he spelled his curtains shut, and woke up early, he should successfully avoid Draco until he had his peace offering.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His palms were sweaty, and he was forced to wipe them on his robes, so as not to stain the wrapping paper on the book. Nevertheless, Harry tried to keep his face blank, and walked towards the Slytherin table.
> 
> Harry cleared his throat, then said, 'Draco.'
> 
> Draco turned towards him, mouth open, most likely seconds from either saying something rather nasty, or hexing him, and Harry thrust out the package in his hand.
> 
> 'Sorry.' Harry said, as Draco took it from him. Then, he fled from the Great Hall as fast as he could without sprinting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after multiple months of promising that I'd return to updating on Wednesday, I've decided to just start updating on Monday, since I have Mondays off from work. For the summer, at least, I should be able to update every week, although I might have to do updates every two weeks once school starts again. I'm really sorry this chapter took me so long, but I had a hard time getting back into the swing of writing this fic, after those months of weird updates.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE NIMBUS 2001

The next day, Harry woke up absolutely exhausted, and it was only the thought that Draco might not want to be seen with him otherwise that made Harry fix his hair. He'd had to wake up an hour early, so as not to see Draco before he had his present, and he smacked his leg against a trunk, rather loudly, trying to leave the dormitory. Harry wondered sometimes if his parents had been cursed before he was born.

 

Normally, Harry would read in the common room, if he woke up early, but instead, he made his way out of the dorm, and up to the Owlery. Draco's owl was sitting there, rather patiently, with a package tied to his leg. Harry handed him an owl treat for his trouble, and plucked a quill from his bag. After he had carefully slit the wrapping paper, Harry slid the book out of it, and opened the front cover.

'Dearest Draco,

Although I had planned on giving this to you for Yule, my idiocy yesterday ruined that plan. I've been rather barmy lately, what with not talking to you, and spending hours scribbling away into that diary. For that, I'm very sorry, and I hope that you'll find it in yourself to forgive me. 

Sincerest Regards,

Harry J. Potter'

Once Harry had finished writing his note, he slid the book back into the wrapping paper, and mended it with a sticking charm. On the wrapping paper, he wrote 'For Draco Malfoy,' and tucked it into his bag. 

On his way down the staircase, he caught sight of Draco, and nearly killed himself, darting into a hallway, so Draco wouldn't notice him. Harry had a very strategic plan, one that involved giving Draco the book, and then spending the twenty minutes after he gave it to him strategically relocated to the library, on the off chance Draco was still cross with him.

When Harry actually reached the Great Hall, however, he was seized with a sudden bizarre panic that Draco would never speak to him again, and he nearly turned around. His palms were sweaty, and he was forced to wipe them on his robes, so as not to stain the wrapping paper on the book. Nevertheless, Harry tried to keep his face blank, and walked towards the Slytherin table.

Harry cleared his throat, then said, "Draco."

Draco turned towards him, mouth open, most likely seconds from either saying something rather nasty, or hexing him, and Harry thrust out the package in his hand.

"Sorry." Harry said, as Draco took it from him. Then, he fled from the Great Hall as fast as he could without sprinting.

When Harry relocated to the library, he could barely keep his eyes on the pages of his book, which was rather a pity, as the book he had picked up was interesting. But every time he tried to bury himself in the magic behind marriage contracts, Harry found his mind being drawn back to Draco, and whether or not he'd managed to make his best friend hate him.

Draco's parents might want him to further their movement against the Muggle Protection Act, but Draco only kept Harry around because before, Harry had been a devoted friend, or at least had been able to fake it. By spending all his time trying to learn little details about pureblood society from a diary, Harry might have cut off his only link to it.

-

The Slytherin second years had Defense Against the Dark Arts first period, and Harry almost skipped out, before his studious conscious got the best of him. 

 

When Harry entered the classroom, he could almost cry. The seat next to Draco was empty, the way it always was. Draco flicked his fingers at him, and Harry sank into the chair next to Draco's gratefully.

"I suppose I forgive you. If only because the book is actually rather interesting. If you go off hunting down that stupid book of yours again, though, I'll have no other choice than to set the bloody thing on fire." Draco sniffed.

Harry gave him a little grin. "Only fair, I suppose. I never wrote anything very important in it, anyways." He lied.

"Well, at least you listen to mother, if not to me." Draco said.

Harry left the jab alone, and fiddled with his quill.

Lockhart saved Harry from any more grovelling, although he still spent most of Lockhart's 'lesson' listening to Draco. 

"-and who would actually admit to his students, much less expect them to know, that his ambition in life is to sell hair tonic?" Draco scoffed.

"Apparently, he couldn't control some pixies during the Gryffindors' first lesson. That's why he won't give us any hands-on demonstrations." Harry told him on their way to Potions.

"He's utterly useless. I should write father, and have him sacked." Draco said.

Harry nodded although he wasn't sure even Draco's father could have Gilderoy 'my-smile-can-charm-a-banshee' Lockhart sacked. 

Potions was, of course, the usual disaster. Longbottom managed to burn through his cauldron within the first lesson, while Draco apparently outdid himself. Snape totally ignored Harry, and Weasley was sent to the hospital wing with severe burns from Longbottom's cauldron.

As horrid as the lesson had been, it was all normal, and Harry felt almost as though he could forget what had happened that morning, except for how exhausted he was. Harry couldn't even be bothered with reading during dinner, and Draco shot him a disbelieving look when Harry didn't pull a book out of his bag.

"Have you suddenly given off reading?" Draco asked.

"I just don't particularly feel like reading. " Harry replied, as desert appeared.

Draco shot him another look, that on anyone else Harry would've called incredulous. "Are you ill? You never just don't feel like reading. It's rather annoying, really." Draco sniffed.

Harry sighed, and sliced off a piece of treacle tart. "I'm rather tired, actually."

"Did you even go to sleep last night? You weren't there when I woke up this morning." Draco asked.

"I got up early to get your present." And to avoid your temper, Harry thought, rather snappishly.

Draco looked almost uncomfortable at that, and so Harry asked him about the upcoming Quidditch practice. Draco had made the house team the previous weekend (while Harry had been talking to Tom), and the next day, he'd have his first practice of the season. 

Draco, as always, was more than happy to talk about Quidditch, and himself, so he took the reins of the conversation, while Harry went back to nodding along, adding commentary only when commentary was necessary. 

That night, Harry fell asleep almost the second his head hit the pillow, and he was wonderfully glad the next day was Saturday, as he slept late enough that he would've been late for class on any other day. Instead, he woke up just in time to overhear Zabini arguing with Draco over how long the Charms essay was supposed to be. 

Harry rather enjoyed listening to it as he spelled his hair into place, and the argument even gave him an extra few minutes to make sure he looked alright. Harry always enjoyed looking at his appearance, as vain as it sounded. He liked seeing that he didn't look the way he had when he was a child. He looked presentable, rich, every inch the respectable young wizard, not an unwanted, hated little urchin.

"The nerve of some people." Draco complained as they made their way up to the Great Hall. "It's as if he only listens to me to argue with me!" Draco sounded as though he thought that was an absolute crime, that anyone should listen to him for anything other than to enjoy his speaking.

Harry hid his smile behind his book, the way he usually did, and made the appropriate monosyllabic responses to what Draco was saying.

Breakfast that morning was a rather dull affair, except for Draco's excited bragging. Now that Draco had made it onto the house team, he was totally convinced that Slytherin would beat Gryffindor this year. Harry was pretty sure that McGonagall fixed the Quidditch scores, which meant they most definitely wouldn't, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to tell Draco that.

Harry had just managed to get Draco to forgive him for saying he didn't think for himself, he had no intention of setting off one of Draco's moods. Instead, he followed Draco towards the Slytherin Quidditch team, book firmly tucked under his arm.

Draco seemed quite pleased with himself as he walked next to Marcus Flint, the team captain, who, Harry noticed, was holding a bright and shiny Nimbus 2001, along with the rest of the team. Harry had thought Draco had been joking about making his father buy the whole team new brooms, but he should've known better. When it came to bribery and ridiculous competitions, Draco didn't pull any punches.

Once the Slytherin Team, along with Harry and one of the older student's boyfriends, reached the pitch, they were faced with the rather angry Gryffindor team. Harry took a step back, just out of the line of fire, if one of the Gryffindors began hexing people, and looked at the two teams. 

Where the Slytherin team was well put together, with pressed uniforms, and matching, polished brooms, the Gryffindor team was rather mismatched, with brooms ranging from Longbottom's just out of style Nimbus 2000, to the Weasley's mangy Cleansweeps. Even their uniforms were a bit ratty, as if they never sent them off to the house elves.

As soon as the Gryffindor captain noticed them, though, they descended in perfect formation, rather like garishly red and yellow geese.

“Flint!” The Gryffindor captain, Oliver something, shouted.“This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Harry really didn't enjoy the way that Flint's eyes lit up, like he was about to kick Oliver-something-or-other's puppy, but he was telling him about it beforehand, so he'd know to watch.

“Easy, Wood." Flint said. Oliver Wood, that was the other captain's name. "I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

From beside him, Draco practically radiated smugness.

"You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, who distinctly looked exactly like he'd just watched Flint kicking his puppy, asked. “Where?”

Draco, with a very self-satisfied smirk, came out from behind one of the Slytherin beaters. "And that's not all that's new." Draco said, pushing his broom out a little further.

"A gift, from Draco's father." Flint bragged. "Very latest model. Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount." He nodded towards Longbottom's broom, then sneered at the Weasley twins. "As for the old Cleansweeps- It sweeps the board with them.”

Harry wondered idly if strategically relocating his face behind his book would ruin the Slytherin solidarity effect. When Granger and the other Weasley came towards the two teams, he abandoned that thought, and moved right behind Draco again, Mrs. Malfoy's favorite impassive look on his face. Harry was pretty sure he could pull it off, and it seemed that none of the Gryffindors were particularly interested in him.

"What’s happening?” Weasley asked Longbottom. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?” Weasley pointed towards Draco.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team. Do have a good look, I'm sure they won't even let you into the shops, much less let you look at the merchandise."

Weasley turned a very unattractive shade of red, that reminded Harry sharply of Vernon Dursley, and clashed awfully with his hair.

"But," Draco continued, "perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them. Of course," he smirked, "you'd still have to have Longbottom buy them for you; the shame of having a Weasley in the store might drive a broom shop under.”

Granger seemed to have had enough of the Slytherin team laughing at Weasley, as she balled up her fists and bit out, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Harry was struck, as he usually was when Granger opened her mouth, by how insufferable she was.

Draco looked rather angry, and he spat out, "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

Harry could almost feel the air around the two teams change, the moment before Flint shoved Draco back into the rest of the team. Harry pulled his wand into his sleeve, as the whole Gryffindor team looked ready to jump on Draco.

Harry really hoped he wouldn't have to hex anyone, but he would, if it kept Draco from being crucified. 

"You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” Weasley shouted, as he whipped his wand out of his pocket.

Harry's wand was in his hand in a matter of seconds, but he apparently needn't have worried, as Weasley only succeeded in rocketing himself backwards. Once he hit the ground though, the whole Slytherin team, including Harry, exploded into laughter. Weasley, with his apparently faulty wand, had managed to make himself start vomiting slugs.

The Gryffindors looked rather ill, collectively, after that, and the Slytherins were granted the Quidditch pitch with minimal fuss after that, probably because Longbottom had to go help Weasley with his slimy little problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue at the end there is a mixture of dialogue from the book, from the movie, and from me. The majority, however, is from the book, and I don't claim to have written it in the slightest.


	6. The Chamber Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry almost didn't want to think about the Malfoys being able to adopt him. They wanted his family's Wizengamot seats, but Harry wanted them. He couldn't even imagine never having to go back to the Dursleys, much less living with a proper pureblood family all the time.
> 
> He couldn't help think about how amazing it would be. Of course, he'd have to deal with Draco's moods, but they were so much better during summer holidays that it would hardly matter. Harry would be able to spend every morning in one of the Malfoy family libraries, before he was set to go and wake Draco up. 
> 
> Almost tripping into the person in front of him jolted Harry out of his thoughts. 'What are they stopping for?' Harry wondered."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, I updated on time again! So, barring any surprises, this book should only be another four chapters, and then, depending on how much of the third book I can get done in the next month, I'll see whether or not I need a break in between them.
> 
> Quick, totally unrelated question, I need to make decisions on pairings, so I can flush out plot, so would you like to see Neville with Luna, with Ginny, or some yet undecided man? Also, how queer would people prefer the ensemble to be? (i.e. Lesbian Pansy, Pan Blaise, maybe even trans someone, depending on how much I like myself?)

CHAPTER SIX: THE CHAMBER OPENS

For the rest of October, Harry found himself at absolutely every Quidditch practice, which, he found, he couldn't really fake watching, unlike listening. He had to admit, though, that the Slytherin practices were rather entertaining. With their new brooms, the Slytherin team would turn into streaks of green, darting this way and that on the pitch. Harry paid particular attention to Draco, so he would always have a compliment, or a move he liked, to give to Draco.

Lessons went about the way they always did, although second year was a bit more challenging than first year. Harry found himself writing even longer essays, as he was absolutely determined to beat Granger to top of their class. Draco in turns thought it a great idea, and an absolute annoyance.

"You do know that you can keep your face somewhere other than the inside of a book, don't you? I think some of the older professors might begin to forget what you look like, if you don't come out, sometime or another." Draco told him during the Halloween feast.

Harry, with great emphasis, closed the book in his hand, and tucked it into his bag.

"He emerges at last! Perhaps we ought to ask that mudblood who's always following Longbottom around to take a picture." Draco smirked at him.

Harry rolled his eyes, and began eating his chicken. 

"You know, you think you'd be a bit nicer. After all, Mother and Father just petitioned to take over your magical guardianship." Draco said.

Harry snapped to attention, and he turned his head sharply towards Draco. 

"Father said they would've done it over the summer, except for that 'Muggle Protection Act' business." Draco kept talking, as he pulled a roll off the table. "And Dumbledore. Did you know he's your magical guardian? According to Father, the only reason he hasn't bankrupted the Potter vault is because your parents didn't officially name him as your guardian."

Harry didn't know if Dumbledore would really have bankrupted him, but he did know that he'd been misusing his family's Wizengamot seats for years. Stealing his money didn't seem such a stretch, after all.

"Father says that we may have to make a family alliance, or something like that, but Mother thinks we shouldn't have that much trouble. Dumbledore is rather ancient, after all." Draco smirked again.

"Aren't family alliances only to prevent sharing each others' secrets?" Harry asked.

"Usually, but they can work in place of a blood adoption, if you need them to." Draco told him. Harry got the distinct impression that Draco had missed Harry's questions about the wizarding world. 

Harry almost didn't want to think about the Malfoys being able to adopt him. They wanted his family's Wizengamot seats, but Harry wanted them. He couldn't even imagine never having to go back to the Dursleys, much less living with a proper pureblood family all the time.

He couldn't help think about how amazing it would be. Of course, he'd have to deal with Draco's moods, but they were so much better during summer holidays that it would hardly matter. Harry would be able to spend every morning in one of the Malfoy family libraries, before he was set to go and wake Draco up. 

Almost tripping into the person in front of him jolted Harry out of his thoughts. "What are they stopping for?" Harry wondered.

Crabbe and Goyle pushed the people in front of them out of the way, and Harry just followed Draco, who had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and saw what they had stopped for.

There, on the wall, was Mrs. Norris, Filch's horrid cat. Next to her was a message, written in what, Harry thought, appeared to be blood. 'The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.' Directly underneath the message and the cat stood Longbottom, Weasley and Granger:

Beside him, Draco read the message out loud, then sneered at Granger. "You'll be next, mudbloods."

"What's going on here?" Filch's voice carried through the crowd, and Harry almost felt sorry for Longbottom, the way his face froze up. "Go on, make way, make way."

Filch emerged from the crowd, and, apparently not noticing his cat, glared at the three Gryffindors. "Longbottom. What're you doi-" Filch's voice trailed off as he finally noticed his cat, and beside him, Draco looked positively gleeful.

"Mrs. Norris?" Filch seemed rather shell shocked as he stared at his cat, hanging limply from the wall sconce. "You've murdered my cat." Filch rounded on Longbottom, his face contorting into the deepest scowl Harry had ever seen. 

Longbottom stuttered out some noises that sounded vaguely like protests, and Draco looked like someone had sent him all his Yule presents three months early, and wrapped them in gold foil.

"I'll kill you." Filch muttered. "I'll kill you!"

"Argus?" Dumbledore's voice echoed from somewhere behind him, and Harry wondered who would die first, Longbottom, or Filch. "Argus, I- Everyone," Dumbledore snapped, "will proceed to their dormitories immediately. Everyone except," he pointed towards Longbottom, "you three."

Draco was absolutely gleeful all the way back to the common room. "There's no way that they won't have Longbottom expelled this time."

Harry rather doubted that, given that Dumbledore had been there the whole time, but Draco was so pleased, he didn't even bother bursting his bubble.

Draco was even pleased when he woke up the next morning, which never happened. Draco was not, and had never been a morning person, but he was in a fantastic mood the whole morning, right until he walked into the Great Hall and saw Longbottom, Weasley and Granger, all sitting at the Gryffindor table. After that, Draco descended into the foulest mood Harry had ever seen. Harry didn't even bother trying to cheer him up, after an unfortunate first year asked Draco to pass him some pumpkin juice, and practically ran crying from the hall.

During Transfiguration, though, Draco's mood reached a new height, and was only roused from it by Weasley's water goblet squeaking. 

"Professor," Granger asked, shortly after, "I was wondering if you could tell us," Granger paused, and Draco went back to scowling, "about the chamber of secrets?"

McGonagall sighed. "Very well.You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."

McGonagall paused, then, looking almost nervous, continued. "For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out students who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them."

"Wonder who started them," Weasley muttered, shooting a glance towards Draco.

McGonagall glared half heartedly at Weasley, then continued talking. "A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Draco looked like he was enjoying McGonagall's story, although that was probably because she was talking about Slytherin, who Draco practically worshipped. Harry was distinctly reminded of a conversation they'd had on the train to Hogwarts, their first year, when Harry had been set on going to Ravenclaw, and Draco had been ridiculously eager to talk about Slytherin.

"The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who, in Slytherin's opinion, were unworthy to study magic." McGonagall took a deep breath, then set her face into its usual, stern expression. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence many times. No such chamber has ever been found."

Just as McGonagall looked ready to resume the lesson, Granger's hand, almost timidly, compared to her usual hand wrenching, rose into the air. "Professor, what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?"

"The chamber is believed to be the home of a monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control." McGonagall said.

The class shuffled anxiously, and Harry almost instinctively shot a glance at Draco, right as the bell rang. 

"Honestly, I wish I knew where the Chamber of Secrets is." Draco said that night, as he took Harry's rook during their chess game.

"...Even if you did know where it was, you'd have to be the heir of Slytherin to get into it." Harry pointed out, as he moved his knight into place. He'd gotten much better at playing chess, he thought.

"And how do you know I'm not?" Draco asked, rather irritably, upon noticing Harry had him in check.

"Because you were sitting right next to me the entire time Filch's cat was being petrified." Harry said, just as he moved his queen. He'd finally won a game against Draco, after almost a year of playing chess together.

Draco sniffed angrily, then dragged Harry down to the boy's dormitory. 

-

The first Quidditch match of the season was on a cloudy Saturday morning in mid- November. Draco looked a bit like one of his family peacocks all morning, and Harry had to keep picturing the Bloody Baron, just to look at him. Mr. Malfoy was apparently attending the match, although he had told the other governors that he was going in an official capacity, and Draco sounded like he was planning on offing Longbottom during the game, just to make sure his father enjoyed the game.

Given the way that Mr. Malfoy bought Draco anything he liked, whenever he liked, Harry rather thought that he would enjoy it, simply for the virtue of having Draco in it, but Harry was enjoying watching Draco parade around, so he didn't tell him that.

Harry made the walk with Draco down to the Quidditch pitch, and wished him luck before he went up to find a seat. Without Draco around, Crabbe and Goyle almost seemed like lost sheep, but when they saw Harry, they quickly took up spaces on opposite sides of him, the same way they did when Draco was around. 

Like when Draco was around, Crabbe and Goyle didn't particularly say anything, although Goyle did ask Harry whether or not he thought he should've made a poster. Crabbe and Goyle really shined when it came to booing the Gryffindor team, though, and as usual, Harry felt a bit deaf by the time the Slytherin team came onto the field. When they did, though, the Slytherins far out shouted the Gryffindor's protests, and Harry, along with some help from Crabbe's burliness, got a good chunk of Slytherin to start chanting 'Malfoy.'

Draco looked up at the stand, and Harry gave him a little wave, right before Madame Hooch blew the whistle. The crowd cheered, and the game was on.

From the beginning, it was clear that the new brooms had given Slytherin a definite advantage, but what really made the game interesting was Longbottom. For some reason, both bludgers were absolutely obsessed with Longbottom

Draco seemed to be enjoying taunting him about it, and without a seeker to sit and look for the snitch, and the beaters not actually doing anything, the match was more of a slaughter, and not in Gryffindor's favor. By the time it started to rain, Slytherin had a hundred and forty point advantage, and the Gryffindor team looked furious. 

The Gryffindors even called a timeout, but didn't seem to use it for anything other than to delay the inevitable, Harry thought. Harry could just see Draco, hovering around one of the Ravenclaw stands, and, even without looking, Harry could see he was about five minutes from a horrid mood. The rain was washing all of the hair tonic out of Draco's hair, and he kept shooting looks down at the Gryffindors, who'd yet to get back on their brooms.

When they did, though, Draco looked ready to murder Longbottom, and began turning this way and that, as though he had caught sight of the snitch, but he was really just sending Longbottom, and by extension, the bludgers, through the Gryffindor chasers. One bludger even hit one of them, before taking off after Longbottom again, and so the Gryffindors were forced to play with only two chasers.

Harry could tell when Draco actually caught sight of the snitch, though, as he stopped looking at Longbottom, and jetted off towards it. The two of them were trying desperately to reach the snitch first, when Draco had to dodge the second bludger, and flipped straight off of his broom, onto the pitch. Harry could see, from the way Draco had landed, he'd taken the impact directly to his crotch, and Harry winced for him. 

Looking at Longbottom, though, Draco had gotten off easy. While Harry had been distracted, Longbottom had caught the snitch, but the second it had taken him to stabilize on his broom had cost him, in the form of the two bludgers slamming into him on both sides. They hit around his legs, and Longbottom hadn't enough strength to stay on the broom, apparently, because he went plummeting towards the ground.

Granger caught him with a cushioning spell, then she, and someone from the crowd of people beginning to amass, destroyed the bludgers.

Harry took one look at all the people in the stands, and took off towards the stairs. If he wanted to reach the infirmary before the crowd of Longbottom's well wishers, he would have to use Crabbe and Goyle's bulk, and get off of the stands before everyone else. As he was leaving, though, he heard the announcer shout, rather unhappily, that Slytherin had won the match, one hundred and seventy to one hundred and sixty. At least Draco would be happy when he got out of the hospital wing.


	7. An Odd Start To Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Why are you still standing around? Sit down.' Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, who were fidgeting around nervously. 'Did I ever show you the clipping Father sent me this morning?' Draco asked, as Harry opened his book.
> 
> Goyle shook his head, and so Draco went off to get it from the dorm.
> 
> 'Have you sent out your Yule presents yet?' Harry asked, as he reached the chapter on spending an extended amount of time as an animagus.
> 
> 'Yule- Yeah.' Crabbe grunted, just as Draco returned from their dormitory.
> 
> The clipping, which Draco had shown him that morning, talked about Weasley's father being fined fifty galleons for enchanting the car that Weasley and Longbottom had driven to school in September. Draco's father had petitioned to have Weasley sacked, although the article didn't say whether or not he would be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was just looking at the page count for this fic, and so far, it's up to 43 pages. And I haven't even finished the whole fic yet.

CHAPTER SEVEN: AN ODD START TO YULE

Just as Harry had predicted, Draco was enormously pleased that Slytherin had won, and he even gave off pretending he was really injured, just so he could get back to the Slytherin dorm.

Flint, in their absence, had thrown together a victory party, and he seemed to have totally forgotten Draco hadn't caught the snitch, as he'd apparently taken out the Gryffindors' best chaser.

Just as Harry thought the day couldn't get any better for Draco, he overheard a group of seventh years talking. "-Lockhart got rid of all the bones in his legs. Has to have them all grown back. I almost feel sorry for Longbottom." One of them laughed, and Harry honestly thought for a moment that Draco would simply pass out, he looked so damned happy.

"D'you think there'll be any permanent damage?" Draco asked him later. "Longbottom might not be able to play, if Lockhart nicked an artery or something, removing his bones."

Harry thought that sounded very unlikely, but he nodded, anyways. "I've heard that all the bones don't always grow back." He'd never heard anything of the sort, but it sounded good, and that was enough.

-

The next morning, the whole school was abuzz over Colin Creevey, the unfortunate mudblood boy who had taken to following Longbottom around, who had apparently been petrified the night before.

If that wasn't enough, during Lockhart's rather disastrous dueling club, Longbottom, so-Gryffindor-his-only-friends-were-a-mudblood-and-a-bloodtraitor Longbottom, began speaking Parseltongue. 

It was as if Longbottom had attracted the plague, the day after the duel. Everyone was convinced that Longbottom was the Heir of Slytherin, which meant that most of the school had taken to avoiding him, and Harry had to listen to twice as many angry tirades about him from Draco.

The only reprieve Harry had from Draco's increasing rants was the promise of Yule, which would start in less than three weeks. One morning, however, Draco's mother sent him a letter telling him that he wouldn't be allowed home for the holidays, as Dobby, the only one of Draco's house elves that wasn't perfectly behaved, had 'accidentally' caused a magical fire that had damaged a large swathe of Malfoy Manor.

When Professor Snape came around with the signup sheet for students staying over winter break, Harry thought it might burst into flames, with the force of Draco's angry glare.

"It really won't be that bad, Draco." Harry told him that night, as Draco copied parts of Harry's Charms essay. 

"Easy for you to say, you-" Draco cut himself off, and Harry didn't need to ask what Draco had been about to say.

Harry scowled at him, and pulled a book out of his bag. Draco almost looked like he wanted to apologize, but Harry doubted that he would, so he simply turned to the chapter he'd been reading.

Just then, one of the Slytherin Prefects came into the common room, looking out of breath. "There's been another attack."

Harry snapped his book closed, and Draco sat up straighter, as the Prefect, whose name Harry thought was something Blishwick, caught his breath. "They've just found Flinch-Fletchley and the Gryffindor ghost. Professor Snape should be here in a few minutes."

As soon as he finished, the common room was filled with whispers, and Crabbe and Goyle made their way to where the two of them were sitting. "What d'you reckon they'll do about the mudbloods?" Crabbe asked, as they took the seats on either side of Draco and Harry.

"According to Sprout, they're going to use the mandrakes to revive them." Harry told him.

Draco seemed rather distracted, and Harry imagined he was still cross with his parents for leaving him at school. When Professor Snape told them that they'd all be followed to class by roosters, Draco didn't even laugh.

On their way back to the dorm, Draco stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Draco, if you're going to try and convince me that you're the Heir of Slytherin again-" Harry started to say, before Draco cut him off.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about your parents." Draco said, actually looking rather apologetic.

"It's fine. It doesn't count if you don't finish your sentence, anyway." Harry told him, and Draco seemed to to stop worrying about it, though Harry did notice that Draco didn't say another word about staying for winter holidays.

-

It wasn't nearly as bad as Draco thought it would be, really. When Crabbe and Goyle's parents heard that Draco had to stay behind at school, they insisted they stay as well, which meant that their dorm was only missing two people. Harry actually thought the whole thing rather funny, especially during the 'Christmas Feast,' where, although neither of them celebrated the holiday, Crabbe and Goyle managed to pack away more food than every member of the staff. 

Draco insisted on leaving the feast early, so as not to seem as though he was celebrating a filthy muggle holiday, and Harry had a rather excellent book on animagi that he wanted to finish. It was rather strange though, as he tripped on something sticking out of a broom cupboard, and ended up having someone step on him, before Draco came back to find him.

"Draco, if you were going to be an animagus, what do you think you'd be?" Harry asked later, as they were sprawled out on a sofa in the common room. It wasn't very dignified, but the sixth and seventh years would never let anyone near the fireplace, much less the sofas that were right next to them, and Harry's ribs still hurt from where he had been stepped on.

"A snake." Draco said, without even blinking.

"But that's so boring. Wouldn't you rather be something more versatile, like a bird of prey, or something?" Harry asked.

"Snakes are very versatile." Draco protested, just like a good little Slytherin, Harry thought, although he was sure Draco would be offended if Harry thought he weren't. "You could climb trees, bite people's heels, pretend to be jewelry, even."

"You got that last one from the book I gave you!" Harry protested, although Draco was right.

"It was an excellent idea. Which is why my ancestors thought it up." Draco sniffed. "What in Merlin's name is taking Crabbe and Goyle so long?"

Harry just shrugged, although he knew exactly what was taking Crabbe and Goyle so long. They were probably still devouring every pastry in the school. 

"Can you believe the nerve of them?" Draco asked, as he got off of the sofa. "I told them to be back here half an hour ago."

With a long suffering sigh, Harry got up, and tucked his book back into his bag. "They may've had to go to the hospital wing by now." Harry mused, as they left the common room.

It didn't take very long to find Crabbe and Goyle, actually. All they had to do was follow the eldest Weasley's outraged shouting.

"Crabbe! Goyle! Where have you two been?" Draco had fully descended into one of his moods, and Harry felt rather sorry for them. "Pigging out in the Great Hall this whole time?" He sneered.

Crabbe nodded, almost guiltily.

Almost as though he hadn't noticed him, Draco turned on Weasley, and asked, "What are you doing down here, Weasley? Shouldn't you be off, scrubbing floors somewhere?" 

Harry wondered if Draco planned on getting them all detention, or just himself. From the way that Weasley's jaw tightened, Harry would say they were the ones who were going to be scrubbing floors. "Mind your attitude, Malfoy."

Draco apparently did care about pissing off a prefect, though, as he stalked off towards the common room. Harry really had to figure out a way to get Draco out of his moods, as he seemed to always be unbearably irritable lately.

"I’ve noticed Weasley sneaking around a lot lately." Draco said, as they reached the portrait of the old man in front of the common room. "And I bet I know what he’s up to. He thinks he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed.” 

Harry could only imagine Weasley, with his manky robes that brought out his freshly polished prefect's badge, tackling the Heir of Slytherin as he set some monster on another mudblood. He unintentionally snorted at the thought, and Draco looked pleased with himself.

When they reached the common room, though, Draco barely left any room for Harry on the sofa they'd been sitting on, so Harry had to squeeze in on the end by Draco's feet. He wasn't sure if the humiliation was intentional, or if Draco was just feeling selfish. Either way, Harry wasn't about to ask Draco to move over.

"Why are you still standing around? Sit down." Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, who were fidgeting around nervously. "Did I ever show you the clipping Father sent me this morning?" Draco asked, as Harry opened his book.

Goyle shook his head, and so Draco went off to get it from the dorm.

"Have you sent out your Yule presents yet?" Harry asked, as he reached the chapter on spending an extended amount of time as an animagus. 

"Yule- Yeah." Crabbe grunted, just as Draco returned from their dormitory.

The clipping, which Draco had shown him that morning, talked about Weasley's father being fined fifty galleons for enchanting the car that Weasley and Longbottom had driven to school in September. Draco's father had petitioned to have Weasley sacked, although the article didn't say whether or not he would be.

Draco practically shoved the article into Crabbe's face, then dropped back down on the sofa. His foot accidentally hit Harry in the stomach, and he hissed out a sharp "Ow!"

Draco moved his legs just enough for Harry to put half of his leg on the sofa. "Thanks."

Draco nodded at him, then turned to Crabbe and Goyle, after Harry went back to his book.

“You’d never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave.” He said, pointing to the clipping Crabbe had just handed Goyle. "They're an embarrassment to the Wizarding World, all of them."

Harry lowered his book, and gave a little nod. "I saw the Weasley girl crying over Filch's cat today. It was rather pathetic."

Crabbe's knuckles tightened, and he looked as if he might punch someone. 

“What’s up with you, Crabbe?” snapped Draco.

“Stomachache,” Crabbe grunted.

 

“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,” said Draco, snickering. 

Behind his book, Harry laughed, despite himself.

“You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet,” Draco went on thoughtfully. “I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.”

"You're wrong!" Goyle shouted, suddenly.

"You think there's someone here worse than Dumbledore?" Draco asked, incredulously.

"Neville Longbottom?" Goyle suggested, looking rather unusually timid.

"Saint Longbottom, the Mudbloods’ friend,” said Draco, once he'd finished staring at Goyle. “He’s another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!”

Harry snorted. "Whoever the Heir of Slytherin is, I think he has rather awful taste."

"I wish I knew who it is,” said Draco. “I could suggest some names for them.”

 

From the other sofa, Crabbe and Goyle looked rather perplexed, and Goyle asked Draco, for the second time in two days, "You must have some idea who’s behind it all?”

 

“You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?” snapped Draco, who'd picked up an abandoned gift on one of the empty desks. “And Father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it." Harry had already heard all about how Draco's father wouldn't tell him anything, which was part of the reason that Draco was so angry about the whole thing, not to mention that the whole school seemed to think that Longbottom was the one attacking people. 

"But I do know one thing," Draco continued, "last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time. As for me, I hope it’s Granger,” he said with relish.

The second Draco finished speaking, both Crabbe and Goyle practically threw themselves from the room, with nothing but a grunted, "I need medicine for my stomach." From Crabbe.

The whole thing was very bizarre, but Draco simply kept talking. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had raided Malfoy Manor last week, but they hadn't found anything, as Mr. Malfoy had hidden everything underneath the drawing room. Harry was rather glad he hadn't told Crabbe and Goyle that, as they might've accidentally told Madame Pomfrey, or someone else. 

Harry was especially glad Draco hadn't told them, though, when they came into the dorm, not remembering any of the conversation they'd had.


	8. The Mudblood Statuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to stare?' Granger's voice came out of the thing's mouth, and Harry glared at her.
> 
> 'No, she didn't. I imagine that she would have, if she weren't dead.' Harry told her.
> 
> 'Oh, I'm so-' Granger started to say, before he cut her off.
> 
> 'She was a Gryffindor, as well. You see, Granger, the suicidal impulse of Gryffindors is rather strong. You ought to be careful. I can only imagine how awful it would be if you and your fur- Hair, I mean, were lost to wizarding kind.' Harry said.
> 
> 'You should stick to following Malfoy around. It's the only thing you're any good at.' Granger sniffed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter title is a gross fake slur, which is not great, but I had kind of a hard time naming this one. So far, there are two chapters left before the end of this book, but with editing and everything, there might be an extra chapter, in which case I'll just post it with chapter ten.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE MUDBLOOD STATUARY

The next day, Harry had a rather unfortunate conversation with Longbottom and Weasley, who were sitting in the library, for about the second time Harry had ever seen.

Of course, they couldn't just be there, they had to take Harry's table. Even Madame Pince, who was absolutely indifferent to everyone, including Harry, knew to look at that table for him, usually when he'd stayed in the library too long.

Harry figured he might as well sit near them, if only so as not to interrupt his usual study space. If Harry happened to hear anything he wasn't supposed to, well... he was in Slytherin for a reason.

"...we still haven't proved that Potter doesn't know anything." Harry overheard Longbottom saying.

"D'you really think that Potter would go around attacking muggleborns, and not tell Malfoy?" Weasley asked him.

"He might've told Malfoy, but Potter's too smart to tell Crabbe and Goyle." Longbottom said.

"But why wouldn't Malfoy tell Crabbe and Goyle?" Weasley asked him.

"Well, if Hermione- No, think about it, if Hermione told you not to tell Dean or Seamus something important, would you do it?" Longbottom asked.

"No, but Potter isn't Hermione, and Malfoy is a miserable prat who loves showing off. He'd probably be proud of how 'great' his taste in friends is." Weasley said.

"Malfoy's a prat, yeah, but he's not stupid."

Harry waited a minute, to see if they would say anything else, but when they didn't, he picked up his books, and made his way toward Madame Pince's desk.

"Potter!" Weasley said, as Harry walked away. "What were you doing, spying on us for dear old weasel-face?"

Harry scowled, and pulled out one of the books in his pile. "If you must know, Weasley, I was reading. You'd taken my table, so I simply sat at the one closest to it." Harry gave him a rather sly smile. "Any of your theories I may or may not have overheard you saying was simply an added bonus."

Really, Harry thought, right after Weasley successfully jinxed him, it was only his luck. The one bloody time that Weasley's broken wand had to work somewhat properly, it was to cover Harry's face in enormous boils.

Which was how, for the second time in two years, Harry found himself being brought to the hospital wing with Weasley induced injuries. Harry really would rather not have it become a tradition, as it would apparently take about half an hour for a Boil-Cure Potion to work, and he had to spend all of that half hour staring at the curtains they had put up around the petrified mudbloods. Harry wondered, as he looked at them, if they'd given Mrs. Norris a bed.

Which was why Harry almost had a heart attack when he looked at a very large, very furry shape in one of the beds. 

If he'd had his glasses, Harry imagined that he would've been able to make out what it was, but he had to simply ponder, until it spoke to him.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to stare?" Granger's voice came out of the thing's mouth, and Harry glared at her.

"No, she didn't. I imagine that she would have, if she weren't dead." Harry told her.

"Oh, I'm so-" Granger started to say, before he cut her off.

"She was a Gryffindor, as well. You see, Granger, the suicidal impulse of Gryffindors is rather strong. You ought to be careful. I can only imagine how awful it would be if you and your fur- Hair, I mean, were lost to wizarding kind." Harry said.

"You should stick to following Malfoy around. It's the only thing you're any good at." Granger sniffed.

"Actually, I'm rather good at Transfiguration." Harry said. He gently touched his face, and after making sure that the boils on his face had gone down almost entirely, he put his glasses back on. Then he began laughing.

"You look exactly like my cat, Granger." Harry told her, in a rather nasty voice he had gotten from Draco.

"You can go now, Mr. Potter." Madame Pomfrey told him, as she came out of her office.

As Harry made his way back to the common room, he wondered why Granger hadn't said anything back to him. Then, he wondered why he had told Granger about his mother. What if Granger went to the library, and looked up who his mother was? Granger made him look like Longbottom, in terms of always having her head stuck in a book, and what a wonderful discovery it would be, for the Golden Mudblood to find out that he was a half-blood. 

Harry felt like he could hex himself for being so stupid, especially after he remembered what Longbottom and Weasley had said about him being the Heir of Slytherin. The Malfoys hadn't adopted him yet, and he might as well have told Granger all about his bloody mudblood mother. Any sane person blamed for petrifying people would jump to the same thought Harry had: why not pin the blame on him? He hated mudbloods enough, he was smart enough, and he resented his father for not marrying a pureblood.

Harry was twitchy as he sat in the common room, and he couldn't seem to read the page in front of him, no matter how hard he tried. If Harry had only taken a different seat in the library, and ignored Longbottom and Weasley, none of this would have ever happened. 

Draco gave him a very odd look when Harry almost knocked over his pot of ink onto his essay, but otherwise didn't say anything. 

"Have you heard? They're saying Granger's been attacked this time. Perhaps the petrification will stick, and they won't be able to revive her." Draco told him, as Harry finished up his Charms essay.

Harry shook his head a little, before he even realized what he was doing. What was he going to do, tell his best friend the whole story of what an idiot he was? "I just saw Granger. I imagine she probably started that rumor, so no one would come see her. She's turned herself into a hideous cat mutation."

Draco stared at him for a moment, before he burst out laughing, and grabbed Harry's arm. He just had time to move his Charms essay, before Draco dragged him out of the common room. A few of the older years stared at them, and Harry wondered how they must look to them. The Heir to the Malfoy family, clutching his pet half-blood, laughing like a madman, as he raced up the stairs.

Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh, or be embarrassed for both of them.

When they reached the entrance hall, Draco seemed to catch himself, and he took a moment to school his face into his usual bored smirk, before he set off for the hospital wing. He didn't let go of Harry's arm, so Harry tried his best to walk with him, rather than be dragged along behind Draco.

On their way to the hospital wing, it occurred to Harry that there was nothing wrong with either of them, as his horrid boils had disappeared, and Draco was practically radiating glee. 

"Draco," Harry asked him, "how do you plan on getting into the hospital wing?"

Draco paused for a moment, before he turned to Harry. "How did you get into the hospital wing?"

Harry wondered if he could come up with a lie good enough, then settled on telling the truth. "...Weasley hexed me while I was leaving the library."

Draco looked like his face was torn between emotions, before finally settling on a grimace. "Gryffindors. Just go ask Pomfrey about any after effects, and I'll go and have a look at Granger."

Assured of the brilliance of his plan, Draco strode off to the infirmary, Harry trailing behind him. Without Draco's hand on his sleeve, Harry couldn't quite keep up with him, even when he stretched out his legs, to make his steps longer.

When they finally reached the infirmary, though, Madame Pomfrey looked at them, and shook her head. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger is a girl, not a passing attraction for you to show to your friends. If you would please return to Slytherin-"

Harry gave her his best affronted look, and said, "I only had a question about whether or not those boils would come back. I don't care what Granger looks like."

Harry thought he sounded rather convincing, but Madame Pomfrey looked rather unimpressed. "Mr. Potter, every time you've come to the infirmary, you've come from the library. You know they won't come back. Now, you and Mr. Malfoy are going to leave that poor girl alone, and be thankful I haven't taken points."

Harry was about to protest again, but Draco surprised him, and grabbed Harry's elbow. "Of course, Madame Pomfrey."

Draco pulled Harry out of the Hospital Wing, then began laughing again. "Did you see Granger's tail?"

Harry didn't particularly enjoy being told off by teachers, but Draco seemed to be enjoying himself, so Harry nodded along while Draco mocked Granger, and made his way back down to the dungeons.

Harry's Charms essay ended up being the bulk of Draco and Crabbe's essays, but Circe did come and curl in his lap, which annoyed Draco to no end. Draco hated her, because he had once tripped over her, and Harry had fussed over her, before asking if Draco was alright. It had been rather stupid of him, Harry admitted, but he had a soft spot for his cat, who hissed at him far less than Draco did. 

Although the first of Yule technically didn't start until that night, Harry'd already sent his presents that morning. Draco was already wildly impatient to see what his parents had bought him, so Harry gave him his present that afternoon.

After the absolute fiasco with the diary, Harry had had to come up with another present, in the course of two months. In the end, Harry had simply settled on a rather flattering biography of Salazar Slytherin, and he tucked the Salazar Slytherin chocolate frog card into the front cover. Harry figured that a book all about Draco's only childhood hero (aside from his father, of course) ought to make him forget all about the 'injustice' of people thinking Longbottom was the Heir of Slytherin.

"You do know that you can give me something other than books, don't you?" Draco asked him, when Harry handed him his present.

"How do you know it's a book? It could be an abnormally large gold brick with a feather-light charm on it." Harry told him, as he tucked himself into the corner of his four poster, so he could open Draco's present.

Draco sprawled across the other side of Harry's bed, and knocked on the cover of his present. "Even with a feather light charm, if that were gold, that would've hurt my hand." Draco unwrapped his present, and triumphantly waved the book in the air.

"I suppose that means you don't want your other Yule gifts, then?" Harry asked him, as he carefully pulled the wrapping paper off of Draco's gift.

"No!" Draco actually looked alarmed for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face.

Draco flopped, rather gracelessly, back onto Harry's pillow, and smacked Harry's leg with his hand. "Prat. Open your present, before I take it back."


	9. The Minister's Signature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry had no idea how they had managed it, but Cornelius Fudge’s hideous signature stared back at him from the bottom of the parchment. When Crabbe and Goyle went to breakfast the next morning, Harry gave Draco a very tight hug, before he let go.
> 
> 'What was that for?' Draco asked him, although he looked rather pleased with himself.
> 
> Harry just fished the parchment off of his desk, and handed it to him.
> 
> 'Oh, that.' Draco waved his hand, as though it didn't matter. 'I keep telling you, you're part of the right sort, Potter.'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, technically, it's Tuesday. But we're going to pretend it's Monday. I really don't like the way this chapter turned out, honestly, but I had to get it out there, so that I can post the last chapter.

CHAPTER NINE: THE MINISTER'S SIGNATURE

As it turned out, Draco's Yule present was excellent (a new watch, with the moon and the sun as guiding hands), but Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy gave Harry the best present of his life (not that there was much in the way of competition). The older Malfoys sent him the papers declaring them as his new magical guardians.

Harry had no idea how they had managed it, but Cornelius Fudge’s hideous signature stared back at him from the bottom of the parchment. When Crabbe and Goyle went to breakfast the next morning, Harry gave Draco a very tight hug, before he let go.

"What was that for?" Draco asked him, although he looked rather pleased with himself.

Harry just fished the parchment off of his desk, and handed it to him.

"Oh, that." Draco waved his hand, as though it didn't matter. "I keep telling you, you're part of the right sort, Potter. Now we're going to keep you away from the filth."

Harry gave Draco a rather watery, undignified smile, and Draco straightened his tie, as though he had won some great victory.

"Oh, that reminds me. Of course, you know that I'll still call you by it, but 'Harry' really is a rather common name for the only surviving member of House Potter." Draco told him, sounding like his father's words were pouring from his mouth.

Harry still felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach, though. But, of course, why would Lord and Lady Lucius Malfoy allow him to keep his name? The common, muggle name his filthy mudblood mother had given him. Except it was the last thing his parents had given him, except for his looks, and once he changed his name, he couldn't just change it back.

"Of course, you'll get to choose it yourself." Draco told him, as they left the dorm, as though that were some great courtesy his parents were granting him.

Harry gave his head a little shake. What was wrong with him? This was what he had always wanted. He had wanted to escape the Dursleys, and he had. He still wanted to become a part of high wizarding society, and who in their right mind would associate with a half-blood, if the Malfoys no longer wanted anything to do with him? 

Harry was lucky the Malfoys hadn't asked for a blood adoption, and he wouldn't end up some horrid Potter-Mudblood-Malfoy hybrid.

He could still choose his name, and his best friend would still call him Harry, so what did it really matter? 

"Charlus, that's a respectable name." Harry said, as he and Draco made their way out of their dorm room. "Charlus Potter the second."

"I'll tell father." Draco said, as they reached the Great Hall. 

As they sat down, Harry remembered thinking, a year and a half ago, if he ever heard Draco say 'my father' one more time, that Harry would smash his head into a wall. He hadn't, obviously, and he was going to live in Malfoy Manor. His family votes were going to make a difference, they were going to help change Dumbledore's horrid policies. Harry- no, Charlus Potter was going to be a wizard to be reckoned with.

Later, Charlus Potter wrote a formal letter of thanks, perfectly worded, according to every book he'd ever read on the subject, to Lord and Lady Malfoy. If he was going to live in high wizarding society, Harry was going to do it right. 

-

Over the course of Yule, Harry received a new pair of formal robes, a book on the history of summer balls, and the papers of Magical Guardianship from Lord and Lady Malfoy. Draco gave him the watch, a book on Grindelwald (Harry noticed that Draco didn't like Grindelwald any more than his father did, which was the case with most things), and a large box of chocolate frogs. Crabbe and Goyle respectively gave him boxes of licorice wands, droobles, and more chocolate frogs.

The best part of Yule, Harry found, aside from learning he would never see the Dursleys again, was having the house elves light the Yule log. It was uncharacteristically warm in the Slytherin common room, and it even seemed to reach the second years' dorm, although that could've been Harry's imagination. Winter holidays wouldn't last the full twelve days, but no Slytherin would ever dare to put out the log, Draco told him. 

The house elves were happy to bring them spiced cider, and although they didn't have a Yule tree, or a ball, Harry wouldn't have traded that Yule for any ten of the Christmases the Dursleys had every year.

-

By the time winter holidays ended, it seemed that everyone, including the heir of Slytherin, was less than concerned with the chamber of secrets. Throughout January, there were no new attacks on muggleborn students, and the school populus as a whole seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Of course, Professor Lockhart couldn't pass up the opportunity to take credit for the "end of the Heir," as he liked to call it. Harry wouldn't've been surprised if that was the title of Lockhart's next book.

As Lockhart was utterly convinced that the heir of Slytherin wouldn't strike again, he had begun planning a "morale booster," although he wouldn't tell any of the other professors what it was.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Valentine's Day wasn't an officially celebrated holiday at Hogwarts, supposedly because the teachers "did not wish to promote sexual relations within the school." Harry was rather certain, though, that it was because the School Board of Governors and Dumbledore were still fighting over whether the students should be celebrating Lupercalia, or Valentine's Day.

In wizarding society, most wizards had yet to stop celebrating Lupercalia, the three day fertility festival. According to the book on Wizarding holidays, the festival was enormously popular for announcing marriage contracts, and for young children to make new friends, by pulling names out of a hat. Of course, couples would still give each other presents, but none of the sappy cards that muggles gave each other.

However, Lockhart apparently hadn't gotten the message, because when Harry entered the Great Hall, it looked as though someone had vomited pink carnations all over it. The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling.

Draco looked as though he would either storm up the the teachers' table and hex Lockhart, or storm off to the Owlery, to write his father. 

"How did he even manage this? Lockhart can barely cast, much less transfigure all of... This." Draco seemingly couldn't find words venomous enough to describe the horrid decorations Lockhart had put up.

"I imagine he simply paid someone to bring them in. Or at least paid pestered them for months." Harry mused, as he shielded his pumpkin juice with his hand.

Just as Draco opened his mouth to say something else, Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, waved for silence. 

The teachers on either side of him looked on, stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in McGonagall’s cheek. Professor Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Armadillo Bile Mixture.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted.   
“And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!”

 

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarves. Not just any dwarves, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

 

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Professor Snape looked as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

In the end, Draco simply marched off to Potions, as he violently brushed off the confetti from his robes. Professor Snape looked even angrier than Draco, and took twenty points from the Gryffindors in the course of their lesson.

All day long, the dwarves barged into classes to deliver valentines, to the great annoyance of the teachers, and the greater annoyance of Draco. Late that afternoon, though, as the Slytherins were making their way back from Charms, one of the dwarves caught up with Harry.

 

“Oy, you! ’Arry Potter!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, as he elbowed people out of the way to get to Harry.

 

Harry felt as though his skin would boil, it was flushed so violently. Draco looked unbelievably angry, and to top it all off, a line of Gryffindor first years, which happened to include Weasley's sister, had stopped to watch. Harry tried to escape, by making for the stairs, but the dwarf cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he’d gone two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, as he played his harp in a threatening sort of way.

 

"Not here," Harry hissed, as he tried valiantly to escape.

"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

 

“Let me go!” Harry hissed, as he tried to wrestle the bag from the dwarf's hands.

 

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. The books he hadn't been carrying, his wand, all his parchment, and his quill spilled onto the floor, and were liberally doused with ink from his ink bottle.

 

Harry quickly vanished the ink, but even as Crabbe and Goyle helped him to pick up his things, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to escape from Lockhart's winged menace.

Harry scowled, but he stood up, and would've glared holes in the dwarf, if he could have. 

"Right,” the dwarf said, as he strummed his hideous harp. “Here is your singing  
valentine:

His eyes are dark and green, like grass,  
His hair is dark, like black bass.   
He's misunderstood,  
But really, he's good,  
This quiet Slytherin,  
Who makes my heart feel like it's taken Nitroglycerin.”

Draco looked furious, and when the Weasley girl looked at Harry, then passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!”

The Weasley girl covered her face with her hands, and ran into her classroom. Harry thought she had no right to be upset, when she had embarrassed him like that.

At dinner that night, Blaise Zabini tried to bring up her horrid Valentine, but after Draco gave him a murderous glare, he seemed to think better of it. Harry was unbelievably glad for it, although he wasn't sure if he should be encouraging Draco's jealousy.

Harry had absolutely never met anyone more possessive of their friends than Draco, who took to glaring at the Weasley girl in the hallway, and went out of his way to heckle her brother in the hallway.

Which was why Harry was surprised when the youngest Weasley sent him a message asking him to meet her by the out-of-order girls' bathroom on the first floor. Harry considered not going, but he did feel a little bad for her. He would go, tell her he wasn't interested, and then come back to the Common Room.

Except, when Harry got to the first floor, Ginny Weasley hexed him, and he passed out, right before his head hit the ground.


	10. The Chamber of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once his vision had properly cleared, Harry looked more closely at where he was. It was less of a room, and more of a hall, with a long corridor behind him, and a pool in front of him, with a gigantic statue. As he looked at the statue, Harry found he recognized the man it depicted, as his face was all over the Slytherin Common Room, and on the chocolate card frog he had given Draco: Salazar Slytherin.
> 
> Harry knew at once where he was, although he had no idea how the Weasley girl had gotten him into the Chamber of Secrets.
> 
> Or, more accurately, how she had gotten them into the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny Weasley, her face as white as marble, and as cold, laid on the floor next to him, a book clutched in her hands. Harry pressed his fingers to her neck, and felt a pulse, although it was barely there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is being posted at 4:30 in the morning, EST, because I'd really like some nice comments to wake up to. It's over seven thousand words, which is three and a half times the length of a normal chapter, and it does diverge from canon. We also start to see a different personality from Neville, so I hope everyone likes the shift. There are some potential triggers this chapter, so those will be in the end notes. Please read them if you're triggered by violence, or anything of the sort.
> 
> The end note will also contain a snippet of the next book's first chapter, which I'll have up either next week, or the one after, depending on my schedule.

CHAPTER TEN: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS

Harry awoke, frozen to the bone, and soaked through, as he lay on a hard, stone floor. At first, he was confused, and he thought, perhaps, that he'd fallen out of bed, until he remembered that the Weasley girl had attacked him.

As Harry sat up, the room around him seemed to spin a little, and when he lifted a hand to his head, his fingers came away bloody. He must've hit his head on the ground when he fell, he mused, as he wiped his fingers on his robes. Normally, such a thing went against all decorum, but by the state of the floor he sat upon, Harry rather thought there would be no saving his robes.

Once his vision had properly cleared, Harry looked more closely at where he was. It was less of a room, and more of a hall, with a long corridor behind him, and a pool in front of him, with a gigantic statue. As he looked at the statue, Harry found he recognized the man it depicted, as his face was all over the Slytherin Common Room, and on the chocolate card frog he had given Draco: Salazar Slytherin.

Harry knew at once where he was, although he had no idea how the Weasley girl had gotten him into the Chamber of Secrets.

Or, more accurately, how she had gotten them into the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny Weasley, her face as white as marble, and as cold, laid on the floor next to him, a book clutched in her hands. Harry pressed his fingers to her neck, and felt a pulse, although it was barely there.

"She's alive, but only just." Said a voice from just behind him.

Harry turned, and saw a tall, black-haired boy, who walked out of the shadows, and came to lean on a pillar. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. On his chest was pinned the Head Boy's badge, and above it was the Slytherin crest, which almost flickered in the dim lighting. He looked almost like the muggle hologram Harry had seen in one of Dudley's television programmes.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Come now, Harry, don't you recognize me? You spent all of your time with me, once." The boy told him, as he passed a wand through his fingers.

Harry had never once had a friend before Draco, much less one that he spent all of his time with, which meant that the boy in front of him belonged in a diary. 

"Tom Riddle?" Harry asked, as if he didn't already know.

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. "Very good, Harry. She was right, you know." Riddle inclined his head towards Ginny Weasley. "You are rather clever."

"...How did you get out?" Harry asked, as his curiousity got the better of him.

“I was a memory,” said Riddle. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years, until little Ginny Weasley opened it up.”

Harry's eyes must've widened, as Riddle twirled the wand through his fingers with a self-satisfied smirk.

"...and what happened? When she opened the diary, that is." Harry asked him.

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” said Riddle pleasantly. “And quite a long story. You see, Harry, Ginny had my diary for far longer than you did. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes- how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books. I suppose that's how she came by my diary in the first place, through a second hand book shop."

Riddle never stopped twirling the wand, and he never looked away from Harry. 

“It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl,” he went on. “But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. 'No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom.'... 'I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in.'... 'It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket.'...”

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck, and he suddenly felt rather ill.

"She loved to write about you, Harry. Her father gave her all these horrid muggle plays, and she fashioned you the misunderstood Romeo to her plain Juliet. She was always coming up with new schemes to try and catch you, to make you spend time with her. In the end, Harry, I simply suggested that she give you the diary." Riddle said, as he rolled his eyes.

"She, of course, thought it was a brilliant idea. I could tell you all about her, convince you to spend more time with her, and then you could give her back the diary. I, however, had different plans. During those long months, Harry, I had begun to wonder about you. A young Slytherin, who had emerged from nowhere, but came from a Pureblood family; you were bookish, where your parents were aggressive; you trailed after a Malfoy, but your parents died for Albus Dumbledore. You were a mystery to me, Harry." Riddle said.

"But, of course, you weren't a mystery for very long. If I say so myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed, and you were no different. Once you discovered I could teach you things, things you could never learn from another book, you were absolutely enthralled." Riddle smirked at him. "You started it all, Harry. You killed a few roosters here, read a few books there, wandered a few corridors, now and then. By the time Ginny Weasley took back the diary, you had become almost invaluable to me."

Harry imagined he knew where Riddle was going with this, and he felt even worse. Harry hated muggles, of course, but that didn't mean he wanted to hurt anyone, much less petrify them. "But she took you back."

"She did. It took much longer to convince Ginny to open up to me again. Once she did, though, Ginny poured out her soul to me, and it was her soul that happened to be exactly what I wanted." Riddle pointed towards himself with the wand. "I grew stronger and stronger, on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley." Riddle's face contorted into a sneer, as he looked at her. "I became powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my own secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her...”

 

Harry had been right. If he'd eaten anything lately, it would all have come up onto the stone floor.

"She opened the Chamber of Secrets for you." Harry said, as he looked down at Ginny Weasley again.

"She did.” said Riddle smugly. “You may have strangled the school roosters, but she daubed the threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on three Mudbloods, and the Squibb's cat. She was the perfect culprit: a Gryffindor, and a blood-traitor, no one would ever suspect her."

"So why am I here?" Harry finally asked.

"I'm so glad you asked. It was all your friend Malfoy's fault, you see. Poor little Ginny had finally worked up the nerve to tell you how she felt, and he 'ruined it.' Ginny was distraught. You wouldn't even look at her, and she'd embarrassed you so. She told me, last night, that she planned to kill herself. I simply couldn't have that. After all," Riddle smiled, "when would I next find such a willing little idiot to write in my diary? I knew I would have to act."

Harry nodded, and tried to keep his hands from shaking, as Riddle still hadn't taken his eyes off of him.

“So I made Ginny write to you, begging you to come see her. I wasn't sure if it would work, but you did show up. All she had to do was write her own farewell on the wall, and bring you to me. She struggled and cried and became very boring, but there isn’t much life left in her, now. She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last..." Riddle trailed off, then turned to face the statue.

"I knew, Harry, that your disappearance would raise suspicions. A Slytherin disappears just as the Chamber of Secrets is opened? Of course someone will show up to vanquish your horrible plot. When they do, Harry, they shall find you, me, and Ginny Weasley's dead body. I shall stay just long enough to take credit for it all, and you shall be the witness to attest to my return." Riddle told him.

"Your return?" Harry asked. Riddle had been sixteen when he made the diary, but he could have done anything after he had graduated.

"Yes, Harry. My return." Riddle gripped the wand he had been twirling, and traced it through the air, writing three shimmering words: 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves into a sentence: 'I am Lord Voldemort.'

Harry almost clapped a hand over his mouth, but instead clenched his teeth together, in an effort to keep down the bile in his mouth. He felt rather light-headed, and although he logically knew it was from the head injury, he almost thought that this new information would make him pass out.

“You see?” he whispered. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry — I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

Harry gave up trying to clench his hands together, as they were shaking like leaves in the wind. Lord Voldemort. Harry had poured out all his secrets to the Dark Lord, and now the Dark Lord had come back to life.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say for a moment, and then he remembered he had once read in a book that Death Eaters would symbolically prostrate themselves before the Dark Lord. Harry had thought it ridiculous at the time, grown witches and wizards, flinging themselves at the feet of their leader, but Harry suddenly found himself in the same position. His hands gripped the filthy stones like a life-line, and his hair, long come undone from the way he had magically straightened it that morning, was touching the ground.

"My Lord." Harry whispered, although he felt rather disgusted with himself. But which was more important, his barely existent moral superiority, or his life? 

"Now, Harry, that's much better. You’ve become my first, true follower. I’ll have to think of a suitable reward for you. When you've become Lord Potter, perhaps I'll make you Minister of Magic, as well." Riddle sounded unbelievably pleased with himself. "But for now, Harry, do get up. We have company."

Harry almost didn't want to get off of the ground, as if not being able to see who came into the Chamber would make the whole awful nightmare go away. But Harry did as he was told, and he pushed himself off of the ground, back into his position next to Ginny Weasley. When Harry pressed his fingers to her pulse, he could feel her sluggish pulse, as it pounded out it's death toll.

“Ginny!” Shouted a familiar, and totally unwelcome voice. “Ginny- don’t be dead - please don’t be dead -” Pleaded Longbottom, as he flung his wand aside, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her violently. “Ginny, please wake up,” Longbottom muttered desperately, as he shook her. Ginny Weasley’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She isn't dead." Harry muttered.

"Potter! What did you do to her-?!" Longbottom let go of Ginny's shoulders, and turned on Harry.

Harry shook his head, and looked to where Riddle's fingers plucked Longbottom's wand from the ground.

"Dear Harry hasn't done anything, I'm afraid. She did it to herself." Riddle announced, as he turned toward the statue of Slytherin again.

Harry took her wrist into his hand, and pressed his fingers into her pulse. It stuttered oddly, and Harry knew that Longbottom wouldn't be able to save her.

"Who are you? Why haven't you helped her?" Longbottom demanded, even though he had jutted his chin out, the way he did when he wanted to seem intimidating. It made him look nervous, and Harry was suddenly seized with the urge to crawl into a ball, something he had never done, ever.

If the Boy Who Lived was scared, Harry had every right to be terrified.

"My name," He said, "is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

“You’ve got to help me, Tom,” Longbottom said, raising Ginny’s head again. “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk... I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment... Please, help me-” Riddle didn’t move. 

Longbottom, sweating, managed to hoist her half off the floor, dislodging her wrist from Harry's hand, and glared at Harry. "Potter! Help me."

Harry gave him a minute shake of his head, and looked up at Riddle. Longbottom reached for his wand, but it was gone.

“Did you see- ?” Longbottom looked up. 

Riddle watched him, and twirled Longbottom's wand between his long fingers.

“Thank you.” Said Longbottom tersely, stretching out his hand for it.

 

Harry knew that Riddle didn't need the second wand, which, of course, meant that more than one person was going to die.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He stared at Longbottom, as he twirled the wand idly.

 

“Listen,” said Longbottom urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny Weasley’s dead weight. “We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes-”

 

Harry didn't quite know what a Basilisk was, but he was sure he had heard the name somewhere. As it was, Harry couldn't believe that Longbottom hadn't figured out who Riddle was.

“It won’t come until it is called,” said Riddle calmly.

 

Longbottom lowered Ginny back onto the floor, clearly unable to hold her up any longer, and Harry took her wrist again. How the girl had survived this long, Harry had no idea.

“What d’you mean?” Longbottom said. “Look, give me my wand, I might need it —”

 

Riddle’s smile broadened. “You won’t be needing it,” he said.

Harry paled, even though he had, by now, expected to watch both of them die.

Longbottom stared at Riddle. “What do you mean, I won’t be needing it?”

 

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Neville Longbottom,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

 

“Look,” said Longbottom, as he lost his patience, “I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later, when Ginny isn't dying!"

“We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Longbottom’s wand.

Before either of them could say anything, though, Ginny Weasley's pulse gave one last pitiful 'thunk,' and did not beat again. Before them, the Dark Lord shuddered, lost the last of his strange, opaque light, and fell to his knees.

Harry wasn't sure what he was expected to do, but he knew what he wanted to do would get him killed, so he dropped Ginny Weasley's wrist, and threw himself to the ground again.

"Potter, what are you doing? Get up!" Longbottom demanded.

Harry hissed back, "He's the Dark Lord!"

"That's Voldemort?" Longbottom asked.

Harry nodded once, then turned his head back towards the floor. There would only be two bodies left in the Chamber, Harry promised himself. Harry had always done what he had to to survive. It was what made him a Slytherin.

Riddle rose from the ground, holding his hands in front of him, as though he were amazed to see them. Harry looked up from the ground, but snapped his eyes back down when Riddle looked at the two of them.

"You see, precious little Ginny Weasley was all alone. She didn't have any friends, and the boy she loved wouldn't speak to her. Harry here was ever so bookish, with his head stuck in a diary, all the time. So one day," Riddle lied, "she took it from him. She hoped to find out more about him, then return it. But instead, she found me. Unlike Mr. Potter, she never even thought to trade something for my friendship, so I simply took what she unwittingly offered: her heart and soul."

Longbottom took a sharp breath next to him, but Harry kept his head down. Beside him, Longbottom moved, presumably to reach for Ginny.

"She's dead, now. 'Her skeleton shall lie in the Chamber forever.'" Riddle told him.

"No! Ginny, no, please-" Longbottom might have been crying, but Harry couldn't tell.

Truthfully, Harry felt like crying himself. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the Slytherin dormitories and hide, until he had convinced himself the whole awful thing was nothing more than a dream.

"You're a monster." Hissed Longbottom, and even though Harry might've been inclined to agree with him, he never would have said so out loud.

"I am the greatest sorcerer in the world." Riddle hissed back, stressing every word.

"You’re not,” Longbottom said, his quiet voice full of hatred. "The greatest sorcerer in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. You're afraid of him, because he always knew what you were: pathetic. You couldn't even come back to life, without feeding off of a little girl.”

 

"Dumbledore should be afraid of me. He’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” Riddle hissed.

 

"He’s not as gone as you might think!" Longbottom shouted.

By this time, Harry had raised his head, and so he was able to watch, as a crimson bird, the size of a swan, appeared, chirping a strange song to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering, golden tail, as long as one of Lord Malfoy's peacock’s, and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

 

A second later, the bird flew straight at Longbottom. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. The bird stopped singing. 

“That’s a phoenix...” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

 

“Fawkes?” Longbottom asked, as he seemingly knew the bird.

“And that-” said Riddle, as he eyed the ragged thing that the Phoenix had dropped, “that’s the old school Sorting Hat."

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark Chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once. Harry shivered, and quietly moved away from them, clearly forgotten.

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Neville Longbottom? Do you feel safe now?”

Longbottom didn’t answer. Harry wondered if he had said his final goodbyes yet.

“To business, Neville,” said Riddle, still smiling nastily. “Twice- in your past, in my future -we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he added softly, so softly Harry almost didn't hear it, “the longer you stay alive.”

 

“No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me,” said Longbottom abruptly. “I don’t know myself. But I know one thing. My mother died to save me. My mother loved me, and her love stopped you.” He added, as he shook with suppressed rage. “She stopped you killing me. And I’ve seen the real you, I saw you last year. You’re a wreck. You’re barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding. You’re ugly, you’re foul-”

Harry winced, and waited for the killing curse to shoot from Riddle's wand. According to the books on the Dark Lord, his temper was often strong enough that he would murder one of his followers for breathing in a way that annoyed him.

All that happened, though, was Riddle’s face contorting into an awful smile.

 

“So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful counter-charm. I can see now... there is nothing special about you, after all. Just a filthy little blood traitor, like your parents. After all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That’s all I wanted to know.”

 

Harry watched, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle’s twisted smile widened again.

 

“Now, Neville, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Neville Longbottom, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him...”

 

He cast an amused eye over the Phoenix, and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Longbottom winced, then stuck out his chin again.

Harry watched Riddle stop between the high pillars, and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed. Harry had never seen anything quite so bizarre, not even when Longbottom had spoken Parseltongue.

Longbottom wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder.  
Slytherin’s gigantic stone face was moving. 

Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole. And something was stirring inside the statue’s mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths. Harry shut his eyes, and gave in to his earlier temptation to curl into a ball. He didn't particularly care about decorum any longer, he just wanted to live, and get out of this thrice-damned chamber.

Harry, obviously, couldn't see what was going on, and he couldn't properly figure out what happened from sound alone. The Dark Lord laughed, but cut off when something began screeching.

Then something made the most hideous noise Harry had ever heard, as the Chamber itself seemed to shake.

"Your bird may have blinded the Basilisk, but it can still hear you!" Riddle jeered, and Harry opened his eyes, although he didn't let go of his legs. 

Harry had opened his eyes just in time to see Longbottom, a sword in his hand, as he sprinted back into the main chamber, with what must have been the Basilisk right behind him. At the sight of its gouged out eyes, Harry finally retched, bile hitting the floor, until he was just dry-heaving.

In front of him, when he looked up, Longbottom had climbed the statue of Slytherin, and drove the sword through the great snake's mouth.

Riddle, however, looked pleased. Harry couldn't understand it, until Longbottom collapsed on the floor, next to Ginny Weasley's body.

"You’re dead, Neville Longbottom,” Riddle gloated, as he stood above Longbottom. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Longbottom? He’s crying.”

 

Riddle was right. The bird was crying, with thick, pearly tears that trickled down its glossy feathers.

“You're going to die, Longbottom. I'm afraid I shall have to miss it, but don't worry. Harry shall be here. And, of course, your songbird!” Riddle laughed again, and beckoned Harry over. 

Harry stood, his legs shaky, and made his way over to Longbottom. As he reached him, Riddle stepped away, and went through the tunnel the Basilisk had come through. Harry listened until the Dark Lord's footsteps faded away, then fell to his knees at Longbottom's side.

"Longbottom, we have to go, we have to get you to the infirmary-" Harry tried to haul Longbottom up, but he wouldn't move. The Phoenix was still crying, a pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound- except that there was no wound. 

Longbottom's arm had mended, and Harry tried to call up what the Potions' textbook had said about Phoenix tears.

Longbottom rose unsteadily to his feet, and glared at Harry.

Harry took a step backwards at the look Longbottom gave him, and almost tripped over something. It was Riddle's diary, which had long since been dislodged from Ginny Weasley's hands.

"You let her die. You let her die!" Longbottom shouted at him.

"I didn't let her die." Hissed Harry. "He would have killed me. She took me down here! She wanted to kill herself-"

"Ginny wasn't like that! She wouldn't have taken you anywhere!" Longbottom followed him, his hands clenched into fists.

"She thought she was in love with me! I wish I had never met her- I wish she weren't dead!" Harry's foot met something uneven, and he fell, hard, onto his back. 

Longbottom still glared at him, and Harry pulled the diary off of the ground, and held it out to him.

"I wish I'd never seen this." Harry muttered.

Longbottom hesitantly took the diary from him, then glared at Harry again. "I wish he'd killed you, instead."

Longbottom stepped past him, and Harry felt almost numb, as he got to his feet.

They walked back through the corridor, and neither of them said anything. Harry was glad Longbottom hadn't simply run the sword through him, much less said anything kind to him.

When they reached a gigantic pile of rock, though, Longbottom shouted "Ron, Hermione!," and Harry knew that Weasley would probably finish the job.

Weasley helped Longbottom through the gap, and then, looking as though he would rather touch one of the rat skeletons on the floor, he helped Harry through.

"Where's Ginny?" Weasley asked, as soon as he saw that his sister wasn't with them.

Longbottom didn't say anything.

"Ron." Granger said, and looked at him, with the strangest expression.

"Where's my sister?" Weasley asked again.

Before Harry could say anything, Weasley turned on him, and pressed his wand into his throat.

"What did you do to my sister?!" Weasley demanded, although his shoddy wand had almost cut off Harry's air-way.

"I didn't do anything to her." Harry said, as his head hit the rock wall behind them. He felt his head wound open again, and blood began running down his forehead. 

"It was Voldemort." Longbottom suddenly said.

Harry flinched, although he felt rather stupid. He had just watched an eleven year old girl die, and he flinched because someone used her murderer's name.

Weasley looked as though he'd suddenly been deflated, and he sagged away from Harry. 

Granger put her hand on Weasley's shoulder, and the three of them walked together, heads bowed. Harry suddenly longed for Draco, and his constant barrage of talking. As was usually the case, he missed the noise, when Draco wasn't around.

-

Harry felt rather as though he would melt into the floor, when instead of the hospital wing, they were taken to the Headmaster's office.

For a moment there was silence as Harry, Weasley, Longbottom, Granger, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in both Harry and Longbottom’s case) blood. Then, there was sobbing.

It was a red-headed woman, presumably Weasley's mother, who had been sitting in front of the fire. She tottered to her feet, closely followed by a red-headed man, but both of them looked as though they could be knocked over by a feather. The red-headed couple flung themselves at their son, and sobbed harder.

If Harry listened close enough, he could make out something about "Ginny, my Ginny." 

Harry, however, was looking past them, to where Lady Malfoy was standing. Lady Malfoy strode past the Weasleys, and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. 

She wiped the majority of the dirt and blood from his face, and then, surprisingly, swept him into her arms. Harry could have broken down sobbing, if he weren't in public.

"Oh, Charlus, you poor dear." Lady Malfoy pulled him over to the fireplace, then placed her hand on Harry's shoulder. 

Harry had never received such affection from adults before, and he felt the way the elder Weasleys looked.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Professor McGonagall, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, asked, "What happened?"

Longbottom, who had his grandmother, an intimidating elderly woman, behind him, crossed to the Headmaster's desk. 

Longbottom explained all that he knew, then, when it came to the diary, he stopped abruptly. 

"I see. Narcissa, why don't-" Before Dumbledore could finish his sentence, however, the door to his office door burst open so violently that it bounced back off of the wall.

 

Lord Malfoy stood there, looking very pleased. Standing behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was the Malfoy's worst house elf, Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore.

Lord Malfoy almost knocked Longbottom over as he swept into the room. Dobby was dragged in after him, looking outraged. From beside him, Harry could see that Lady Malfoy nodded at her husband.

Lord Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, apparently, but he looked almost as polished as usual. Harry wondered why Lady Malfoy had come without her husband, but he imagined he would find out, one way or another. 

"Dumbledore." Lord Malfoy sneered. "Tell me, have you stopped the attacks yet? Or, have you found the Weasley girl?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, who looked rather grave, now.

“Well?” asked Lord Malfoy smugly. “Where are they?"

“The culprit was same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

 

He held up the small black book, watching Lord Malfoy closely.

"And the girl?" Lord Malfoy asked.

Dumbledore looked, momentarily, very distressed. "Young Miss Weasley is no longer with us."

Behind them, Mrs. Weasley, who had been quiet, began sobbing again, although she was quieter than before.

Lord Malfoy had reached his moment, and he placed a roll of parchment upon the desk. "Given that you cannot, apparently, keep the students safe, despite your many assurances, the other governors and I have decided to suspend you."

Everyone in the room, aside from Lady Malfoy and Harry, immediately began shouting at Lord Malfoy.

Until Dumbledore raised his hand, and pulled away from his desk. "Very well, Lucius. If the Governor's desire my removal, I shall, of course, bow to their wishes."

Harry noticed that Dobby, the Malfoys' elf, was doing something rather strange.

The elf had fixed his large eyes on Longbottom, and he kept pointing at the diary, then at Lord Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

 

"Perhaps you would be kind enough to escort me to the Ministry, so I may tell Cornelius what has happened." Dumbledore asked.

Harry could practically see the schemes ruminating in Dumbledore's head, as they spoke. And still, behind Lord Malfoy's back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. And Harry understood, seemingly at the same time as Longbottom. 

Longbottom nodded at Dobby, and Dobby smiled, an odd thing on a house elf's face.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” Asked Longbottom.

 

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him. “How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” He asked.

 

“Because you gave it to her,” said Longbottom. “In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

 

He saw Lord Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

Before Lord Malfoy could say anything, though, Harry blurted out, "That's not true!"

"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry felt as though he might pass out. But Riddle had given him the lie, and he couldn't allow Lord Malfoy to be arrested, not now.

"...It was mine, Professor. I bought it in Diagon Alley, before term began. I didn't think it would be anything out of the ordinary," Harry lied, "just a diary. Except, when I wrote in it, he wrote back."

"He, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore prompted.

"You-Know-Who. It was his, although I didn't know it, at the time. He answered my questions, he was helpful. He asked me to do strange things, but I didn't think anything if it. Then, she, the Weasley girl, she took the diary. I didn't know it was her, Professor, I just knew it was gone. I was anxious, and I lashed out, because the diary was gone." Harry swallowed, then went on. 

"In the Chamber, he told me that she thought she was in love with me, which was why she took the diary. But she- he said she wasn't as clever as I was." Mrs. Weasley drew an outraged breath, but Harry kept going. "She didn't ask what he would like in return for listening to her, so he began controlling her. At first, it was small things, and then, they got bigger, until he had her open the Chamber of Secrets."

Lady Malfoy squeezed his other shoulder. "She wrote me a poem for Valentine's day, and I- I wouldn't look at her afterwards, so she became very upset. He said that- that she wanted to kill herself. I don't know if that was true, but, that was when he had her write me a note, and bring both of us down into the Chamber."

Harry went quiet, and was rather ashamed of himself. Harry had stuttered through the story, and they all probably thought, by now, that he had murdered Ginny Weasley with a rusty kitchen knife.

"Mr. Potter, why didn't you report the theft?" Asked Mr. Weasley.

"And tell them what?" Harry asked, quietly. "I had been stupid enough to write in a diary that could write back?"

Mrs. Weasley sobbed again, and her husband pulled her into his arms.

For a long moment, no one, including Dumbledore, said anything. 

Then, Lady Malfoy pulled Harry away from the fireplace. "I think, truly, Mr. Potter is as much a victim in all of this as Ms. Weasley. Unless anyone has any proof that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name did not kill that poor girl, I believe I shall take Mr. Potter to the infirmary."

Lady Malfoy pulled him from the room, and no one made any move to stop them.

-

After Madame Pomfrey had checked over his injuries, she had him change into a hideous pair of hospital robes, and set up a partition around his bed.

Quietly, Lady Malfoy took Harry's hand, and tucked him into the bed. Harry fell asleep within a few minutes, just as Madame Pomfrey told Lady Malfoy, "He has a slight concussion, but I'm more worried about the psychological effects…”

Harry dreamed of Tom Riddle, who said, over and over, “You’ve become my first, true follower,” as the words 'I am Lord Voldemort,' circled around him like a snake. Harry was on his hands and knees, and he looked up at Riddle, as he kicked Ginny Weasley’s still body.

Harry crawled forward, as he tried to reach her, to save her, but every time he moved forward, he seemed to get further away from her. 

Harry woke up, as someone shook his shoulders.

Harry didn't need his glasses to recognize who pushed them into his hand.

"Draco." Harry winced at his voice, which had gone hoarse.

Harry pushed his glasses over the bridge if his nose, and he was stunned to see that Draco's eyes were red, as though he had been crying.

"All they would tell us was that someone had died." Draco viciously wiped the tears from his cheeks, and scowled at him. "You are an unrepentant prat. You could have told me where you were going, instead of running off like some Gryffindor arse." Draco leaned back in his chair, the way he did when Harry had done something that displeased him, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry gave him a weak smirk, and tried to clear his throat. "I'm touched, Draco. Here I thought you didn't appreciate me."

Draco smacked his arm, and held out a glass of water, just out of Harry's reach. "I simply would've missed having someone other than Crabbe and Goyle around. Now, I believe you owe me something."

Harry pretended not to notice the way Draco sniffled, and tried to smile. "Draco, I'm very sorry I almost died. Believe me, I would've been much angrier than you would have."

-

Madame Pomfrey kept Harry in the Hospital Wing for almost a week and a half, during which time Draco came to visit him every few hours.

Although Madame Pomfrey had tried to stop him, Harry had Draco bring him some of his books, so when he wasn't there, Harry wouldn't have to think about the Chamber.

If Harry never had to think about the Chamber of Secrets, ever again, it would still be too soon for him. 

Madame Pomfrey administered several mind healing spells every day, and Harry had to take a potion to get rid of his concussion for the first three days. 

The mandrakes hadn't reached maturity yet, and so Harry had to share the Hospital Wing with all of the petrified mudbloods, and Filch's cat, which did absolutely nothing for his mood. Occasionally, Longbottom would visit the infirmary, protest vehemently that he was fine, take a potion, and leave.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how Longbottom could possibly be alright. They had watched someone die. Longbottom had almost died himself, yet he said he was fine. Harry had known Gryffindors were stubborn idiots, but he'd had no idea the scope of their stupidity.

Draco told him time and time again that the school was rather normal, but Harry couldn't possibly see how that could be true. A student had died, and another four were in the hospital wing. Harry could only imagine what Weasley was like, now that his sister had died. He probably went around and attacked anyone who sneezed. 

Harry, as it turned out, was right. Nothing in Hogwarts was normal, or even as normal as it ever got.

The first morning Harry was allowed to go to breakfast, the entire Great Hall turned to stare at him, and it was only Crabbe and Goyle's hulking frames, and Draco's glares, that kept people away from him.

On the front page of the Daily Prophet were both articles questioning Dumbledore's sanity, and wondering where the re-incarnated Dark Lord had escaped to.

The entire school seemed wary of Slytherin house, and the other students went out of their way to avoid them, even more so than they had when the attacks had happened.

Longbottom would often go silent, and wouldn't answer any questions about what had happened in the Chamber. Weasley did, indeed, go off on anyone who even mentioned his sister's name, and Granger tried desperately to keep the two from going off on people. The three of them seemed closer than ever, and would frequently be seen muttering to each other in the hallways.

Since Longbottom wouldn't say anything about what happened, people in the library would whisper and stare at Harry, so Draco began accompanying him to the library, along with Crabbe and Goyle. They looked distinctly uncomfortable at first, but eventually warmed up to it, when Harry caught up to the recent assignments, and allowed them to copy almost all of them.

Professor McGonagall, as Deputy Headmistress, took over control of the school, but she was frequently stuck in the Headmaster's office, talking with the Minister for Magic. Professor Snape seemed to always be in a foul mood, and he would haunt the hallways, looking for reasons to take points from the Gryffindors.

Both the end-of-term exams, and all of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled, the latter owing to Lockhart having apparently lost all of his memories. 

It took almost until the last month of term before any of the mudbloods were un-petrified, and when they were, they all took to glaring at Harry, as though he had been responsible for petrifying them.

In all, the last term was unbelievably tense, and Harry had never been happier to get on the Hogwarts express.

"Mother and Father are going to host a ball for you." Draco told him, on their way back to London. "I imagine it was Mother's idea, but they both seem to be enjoying it."

Harry imagined that Lord Malfoy was ecstatic, what with Dumbledore being suspended and all, and that the ball would really just be another occasion for the Malfoys to show off. It was still a nice gesture, Harry supposed. He couldn't find it in himself to resent the Malfoys, not after all they had done for him. 

"I suppose I'll have to practice my waltzing, then." Harry mused, as he thumbed through his book. 

He wasn't even reading it, really. Animagi weren't particularly interesting, after all. Or perhaps, the subject had simply been ruined for him, since he had been reading that particular book when Ginny Weasley had taken him into the Chamber.

"Mm. I imagine Mother will have us practice together." Draco told him, as he lounged across the seat. He'd gotten hold of a little golden ball, probably stolen from one of the first years, and was tossing it in the air.

"Really?" Harry asked. The last time he'd taken dancing lessons, Lady Malfoy had waltzed with him, while Draco pointed out all his flaws.

"Mm." Draco told him. He tossed the ball in the air again, and didn't elaborate.

Harry tried to bury himself in his book, rather than dwell on his Draco's elusiveness. Even with all the horrid things that had happened at school, Harry was looking forward to spending his summer at Malfoy Manor. 

When they arrived at King's Cross, however, Harry was gripped with the strange fear that no one had told the Dursleys about him leaving them, and that Vernon Dursley would come to take him back, and lock him in the cupboard again.

Despite Harry's fear, though, only Lord and Lady Malfoy waited for them, looking regal as ever.

Lady Malfoy first hugged Draco, then hugged Harry, as though he were her own son. Harry knew, like he knew the back of his hand, that the Malfoys had only adopted him for his Wizengamot seats, but none the less, Harry felt his heart swell with affection for Draco's mother.

Lord Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder, which was as close to approval as he could get, Harry expected, and the elder Malfoys led them from the station, as Draco told his parents all the mundane details of Hogwarts' life. Where Draco's egotistical prattle would've once been enough to drive Harry batty, it now made Harry feel, for the first time in his life, as though he were going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Violence against minors, brief descriptions of wounds, attempted child murder, and character death (of a child).  
> Summary: In this chapter, Harry finds himself within the chamber of secrets, along with an unconscious Ginny Weasley, and Tom Riddle. Riddle tells Harry that Ginny gave him the diary, in order for Riddle to convince Harry to begin a romantic relationship with Ginny, who was infatuated with him. Upon learning of Harry's family, however, Riddle preferred to stay with Harry, and try to teach him how to open the chamber, rather than possess him. However, when Ginny took the diary back, Riddle still possessed her, and had Ginny open the chamber of secrets. When Harry rejected her, however, she contemplated killing herself, forcing Riddle to act. He had Ginny send Harry the letter, and kidnapped both of them. Riddle reveals that Harry is there to witness his resurrection, and to attest to Lord Voldemort's return. Harry, who is afraid Riddle will kill him, prostrates himself before Riddle, who declares Harry to be his first follower, now that he has been resurrected, and that if Harry is loyal, he may make him his puppet Minister of Magic. Neville Longbottom arrives shortly thereafter, and after Riddle steals his wand, and tells him that Ginny is going to die, Harry reveals that Riddle is a young Voldemort. Ginny dies, and Neville fights the basilisk. Although he is successful, Riddle escapes, leaving Harry to watch Neville die. Harry, distressed from his part in the encounter, tries to drag Neville up, to bring him to the hospital wing, but Neville recovers before he can do so. Harry reflects that although he hates muggles, he had never thought about hurting them, or killing anyone, and tells Neville he wished he had never seen the diary. Neville tells him that he wishes Harry had been the one to die, instead. After exiting the main chamber, the two return to Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, who had not yet been petrified, and Gilderoy Lockhart, who still lost his memories. When Ron notices his sister is not with them, he accuses Harry of killing her, and assaults him, causing an earlier head wound to re-open. Harry, numb and almost un-feeling, is distressed when they are brought to Professor Dumbledore's, who has not yet been suspended, office. There, he finds the grieving Weasleys, and Narcissa Malfoy, who shows him almost parental concern, fussing over him, and giving him a hug. Neville explains what happened to him, and Lucius Malfoy arrives, with Dobby, who signals to Neville that Lucius gave Ginny the diary. Neville accuses him, but Harry lies, and says that the diary was his, and then gives an altered version of the truth, telling them Riddle possessed Ginny, and had her abduct him. Lucius presents Dumbledore with an order of suspension, and Narcissa brings Harry to the hospital wing. Harry has a concussion, and he passes out shortly after arriving. He awakes to see Draco, who has been crying, although he denies it. Harry remains in the hospital wing for two weeks, after which time he leaves, and becomes an object of fascination for the school. Neville refuses to talk about what happened in the chamber, leaving the students wary of Slytherins, but desperate for Harry to tell them what happened. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle all accompany Harry everywhere, almost excessively protective, at Draco's behest. On the train home, Draco tells Harry that his parents are throwing Harry a ball, although Harry suspects it is for Lucius' victory over Dumbledore. Draco makes an odd comment about them brushing up on their dancing together, where Narcissa had taught Harry before. Upon reaching the station, Harry is worried the Dursleys will still come to collect him, but they do not, and the Malfoys seem proud of him, with Narcissa giving him another hug. Harry feels as though he is finally going home, for the first time in his life, as they leave the station.  
> Preview of Book Three: For the first few days of Charlus 'Harry' Potter's summer, everything went just as he thought it would.  
> Harry would spend his mornings in the libraries of Malfoy Manor, working on his summer homework, and reading up on his electives. Harry had eventually decided upon Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and, against his better judgement, Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was perfectly happy taking care of his cat, Circe, and had no interest in taking care of anything else, given what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.  
> Draco Malfoy, however, Harry's best friend, had decided to take the class, as an easy O, and had roped Harry into coming with him.  
> As it were, Harry had full reign of the libraries, until Draco woke up at around ten o'clock in the morning, at which time they would join Draco's parents, Lord and Lady Malfoy, in the dining room.  
> 


End file.
